Afraid to ask questions,
pretending they don't exsist
surely things will break
sooner or later,
for the questions hover, watching
like dragons in the air.
Standing near the rooftops,
looking past garages, trees
basketball hoops and cars,
the distant places,
someday, I'll go there
and the words hover, waiting,
like dragons in the air.
Chapter the Twelfth
Chapter Seventeen: Love Victorious
Did I read the stories wrong
Were all the old songs untrue
The tapestries woven, long and grand
Told endings that I thought would be
I didn't think that I would stumble
Or get lost within my feelings
Yet Love, dressed in her gown of red and white
Danced before my eyes, transfixing my gaze
Passion pushed me near her,
I took her hand in mine,
With her I danced for hours as the stars shined
Joy sweeping through me like a warm summer's breeze,
Nothing as sweet as when I kissed her soft cheek
Fear
Telling you to run
Fear
Impossible to shun
Fear
Never letting you try
Fear
Won't tell you the reason why
Fear
It's there, so laugh at it
Fearless
Fear
Keep going in spite of it
Fearless
Fear
Countered with faith...
You are
Fearless.
What's that
Over there?
A butterfly?
WHERE?!
Curiosity killed the cat, they say
But Ben Franklin braved the storm Anyway
How did you
Do that?
Why, and
Wherefore?
Stop being so nosy, they say to me
But I keep asking questions- it's
Curiosity!
What's that
Over there?
A butterfly?
WHERE?!
Curiosity killed the cat, they say
But Ben Franklin braved the storm Anyway.
How did you
Do that?
Why, and
Wherefore?
Stop being so nosy, they always say to me
But I keep asking questions- it's
Curiosity!
Meanwhile, in the lonely town the princess desired to explore, a young fourteen year old man whistled along the cobbled street in the center of town. He searched the buildings beside the road until he found 14 Hemming Place, the blacksmith’s shop. He knocked twice on the door. A man came out, looked at the boy, and said,
“We’re not hiring.” And tried to slam the door. The boy, however, held it firm.
If you’ve ever poised a pencil over paper for long hours
You might just be a writer
If you know that recording stories isn’t a frolic in the flowers
You might just be a writer
If you’ve written down a battle and felt you’re in the fight
You might just be a writer
If you’ve struggled with a paragraph far into the night
You might just be a writer
If you’ve ever felt that what you write will never be its best
You might just be a writer
If you feel you could writer forever and never take a rest
You might just be a writer
When the spring rain comes
crashing down
when the summer wind
blows through my hair
when the autumn leaves
fall to the ground
and the winter snow
blows through the trees
grace comes upon me,
and I thank God.