Words, symbols of thought,
dragged from the heart and soul
to the cold reality of ink, paper and eye.
Many times when I ventured into my soul
I came back with my hands full of words,
like sand, sands of symbols, still warm
from the heat of my soul.
When these grains of words were examined closely, I found each were minute worlds waiting to be discovered, expressed or explored. Each word grain told a story.
Some told of great joy and triumph,
illuminating all who looked upon them.
Others I found to be yet formed and quite unattractive. Some were of ghastly horrors of untold tragedy and distruction; emotional accidents filled with centurys of grief.
Each I sought to understand and
gazed at with great clarity and closness.
