Words

Words

Words.

What would we do without them?

No speaking,

No arguing,

No expressing.

 

Words.

Alone, they mean so little,

Yet together, they can change the world.

Used for good,

And used for bad.

 

Words.

They can be flung,

Said without thought.

Hurt like a dagger through the heart.

Bring us down, to hell from heaven.

 

Words.

Filled with love,

Compassion.

Completely uplifting.

Carry us up, from hell to heaven.

 

Words.

Useless by themselves,

They rely on us.

Will you use them for the better?

Or use them for the worse?

 

Words.

Quickly said

But never forgotten.

The decision is yours,

For good or for bad.

 

Words.

 

Books

I close the book,
I close my eyes,
Keep my mouth shut
Though I’m crying inside.

I read the first page,
Not knowing what I’d find
A whole new world
Or more of my kind.

The book looks so simple
On the outside.
One could not suspect
The secrets that hide inside.

Mere ink on a few sheets of paper,
And yet there is much to uncover
From the lines and shapes
Between cover and cover

The author created him
But his death destroys me.
It may not be real
But it just as well could be.

The characters are made up
But the message is not.
It will stay with me forever
In a tear or a passing thought.

I flipped the last page,
Not wanting it to end.
After all those endings,
How am I to mend?

An entire world of stories
Yearning to be told.
The lives of so many
Who never got to grow old.

They say you only live once,
But that is a lie.
By reading a book,
You live another life.

Time

Time

Time.

Holds the answers

To the past.

Holds the key

To the future.

 
We complain,

That we do not get enough

We complain,

That we get too much.

 
Spent more carefully

Than money,

Than tears.

What we use

We cannot get back.

 
Time.

Endless,

Yet precious.

Free,

But priceless.

 
Spend time

Questioning the past.

Spend time,

Wondering about the future,

But don’t forget to live the present.

 
Born before our creation,

Lives after our destruction,

Eternally flowing,

And never ending.

Time.

 

Writing

 

Writing

Imagine.

A world filled

With your deepest desires,

Inviting others

To see your purpose,

Who you are.

 

A place,

Yours and yours alone.

A way to find catharsis,

A way to find yourself.

That is what writing is:

Letting go.

Putting what you think,

How you feel,

Onto paper,

For the world to see.

 

Within everyone,

Lie beautiful thoughts

Fighting their way out.

That is what writing is:

Pouring out your beautiful thoughts

From inside out,

Onto paper,

For the world to see.

 

Everyone

Has their own world,

Their secret hideaway.

That is what writing is:

Finding your own place,

Helping others find theirs.

That is what writing is.