Writers can get grouchy when life gets in the way of writing. It feels good to create something everyday, even if it’s a tiny off-the-cuff poem.
Subterranean
This is how she moves
in the dark
under the cover
of words
This is how she lights up
when the moon
winks
at her thoughts
They are His
and can be
nothing less than
perfect
And so she scurries out
to dismember theorems
and poke sleeping dogs
Because nothing
is safe
and everything
is sacred
in the dark
under the cover
of words
love this post.
I’m not a poet but I shall give it a whirl:
Words are set
Into my heart
Yes, even my spirit, yet
Unguided, they are worthless
-A gumbo of meaningless consonants and vowels …
Guided- by His hand they
Speak
And me, the twirler of pencils
Can only pray
They convey His meaning
Not mine, not selfish, but His
I love this, Claire. I think our feelings toward writing are parallel. Thanks so much for sharing your beautiful words!
Love this imagery. It’s very subversive. Of course, some sleeping dogs need to be poked and nothing is ever safe, right?
Thank you, Thomas. Subversive is my game. I haven’t written poetry since my angsty high school years, lol. Can you tell?
And, no. Nothing is ever safe from writers who want to get down to the truth.