Round and round and round I go Writing fast and writing slow Pen the lines and edit them Shine each word just like a gem. Tell the story dark and grimm Each drop of blood, each funeral hymn Tell the flowers of the field Describe each weapon that you wield. And then at last the past is done. The race is run. The prize is won. The pen is empty, old, and worn. The night is over. Comes the dawn. Then everything fades so fast. The flag's left hanging on the Mast Waiting while the breeze picks up. The tea is poured into my cup. The challenge given, accepted too. Its Time again. I must push through To finish what I once did start And walk along the path with heart.
Round and round and round I go Writing fast and writing slow Pen the lines and edit them Shine each word just like a gem. Tell the story dark and grimm Each drop of blood, each funeral hymn Tell the flowers of the field Describe each weapon that you wield. And then at last the past is done. The race is run. The prize is won. The pen is empty, old, and worn. The night is over. Comes the dawn. Then everything fades so fast. The flag's left hanging on the Mast Waiting while the breeze picks up. The tea is poured into my cup. The challenge given, accepted too. Its Time again. I must push through To finish what I once did start And walk along the path with heart.
It is so good to sit with you To hear your stories from the blue To feel my mind and soul awake And roam throughout the town you make You’ve build a world that no one knows With roads and houses, highs and lows A bridge, a mansion and a gate Waiting for someone called by Fate To water the garden, wonderfully planned With Scarecrow, Well and pumpkins grand Behind the fields it needs some care To tend the flowers planted there And so the ink begins to flow The characters stand in a row The story churns, so does my heart And now I start to play my part
Like you, I don't know where it comes from or goes But it's all about me, from my head to my toes, And I ask myself often if I'll drink my fill Of water, behind the tavern by the hill? Or meet Neal, the rider, selling smoke by the road? Or talk to the Scarecrow? Or meet the great toad? Will I fish for catfish and hook a mean troll? Or walk past the chickens? Or go for a stroll Past Apple Creek? past the acorns and Lake? Through overgrown paths - will I ever awake? I'm in the picture, but which bit is me? Who are the others who drink of your tea? What is the secret? When will I know? I'm sitting, and writing, thanks to you and the crow.
Where does the story come from? From Truth? From Experience? From Phantasie? And, more importantly, where does it go to? https://www.wattpad.com/1539955033-ix-teyolotl-xoc-sings-%F0%9F%95%AF%EF%B8%8F%F0%9F%90%89the-gift-beneath-the-wing
Today I started to write a different sort of story. Since I am so enraptured by this dragon and her story, I thought I'd spend some time at the Scarecrow's House, seeing things from a different point of view, and see where that takes me.... ix-teyolotl-xoc-sings-the-ember-that-would-not-die?utm_source=web&utm_medium=twitter&utm_content=share_reading&wp_uname=bobdub
Long, long ago I learned so well To hide myself inside a shell. I am too bold, too brash, too loud I do not fit in with the crowd. To belong you must make sure You do not break the sacred law Of how to say the words they want. I've tried and tried but I just can't. I don't even get common subtext. Please speak plainly, I am quite vexed By things that I must try to guess. I just cannot. I'm so hopeless. I'm so ashamed of all these flaws Outspoken, harsh, my words give pause To all around, they flinch away, "Edit your Truth", they seem to say. I'm different, though I look like you Believe me when I tell you, too. I cannot do the thing you want I've tried and tried, but I just can't.
Strange and elaborate stories' bait Just read between the pains - What is unsaid holds all the weight What is not talked of, reigns. I wonder, nightly, what is who? And which Where, when ...and HOW? I'd like to see the graveyard's ditch And speak of then and now. Who are the lives behind the toons? The man who helps, unplanned? While foully set upon by goons - He tells the story of the land, He saves the bunch of friends, And helps them make his town their home. Building ties, we make amends, 'Cross time and place and zone.
Just a moment to start the brew A delivery to make, or two, A traveller to follow, a dragon to ride, A journey so long and so far and so wide A story to read, a friend to make, a game of strategy, will there be cake? A mountain so high, and monsters of Fate All in pursuit of a check and a mate. A little bit... An awkward fit The Story is Real, so's the circuit-tree. Walk through the door, Knight to C3
The energies are Agnostic Or so Otto says WE take the energy and use it to do the thing The thing that we could not do Unless we had the Power That rises up with Glory and Suffering in its Wings The Golden Unfolding of The Sails of Fate that sweep us onwards to Destiny Ride the Surge Spill it into the Ink I should really do it today #someoneshoulddosomething
I am broken and empty - my cup runneth dry. I have lifted my hands in request to the sky. I have tried, I’ve forgiven, I’ve 'breathed' and I’ve sung To the Lord of the Universe, joy on my tongue. But the days keep on buzzing in hollow refrain, And the night strips the music, leaves silence, leaves pain. That song of the soul that was meant to be free? That song of freedom was meant to be me... But I'm old now, I'm tired, my joy turned to dust. I rise not with gladness, but because rise I must. I have battled, I've wept, I have burned through the night. Only ashes remain now, no flicker of light. No comfort can touch me - the Night's here to stay. So I work in the dark, and I look to The Day.