Original Poet-TrEE
pOET-TRee
Let She Speak Poetry, goes deep inside a world outside. It reflects the hearts and souls of mankind. When we are in grief, afraid, and when we talk to God and to Photo by: Marcus Singleton ourselves, we are inside the incomprehensible. What comes out at those times is verity, are the echoes of the silence that screams inside the souls of men, women... boys... girls, dogs and cats. The echo's give validation that we have not lost our sanity, and that we can go on in spite of how lost, how hurt, or how bound we have become! The voice of the poet reaches the non-poet~ speaking even without sound. It is penetrating the very essence of the soul of unity. It vibes!!! There is always an audience for the spoken word. The right word, has to be spoken or seen, in the right ear or eyes, by the right voice, at the appointed time! That's why we keep speaking, and that's why they keep listening. To find, if only, a momentary, medicinal peace and silence for their souls! Your voice, rang forth and from it sprung a language from your intellect. Words, never before strung together. And never before heard! The synergy they've Fathered, is already, now eternal. How profound subsists THE WORD! I dont care if the eyes of this world ever see my face, as long as their ears, get wind of my voice! I DON'T JUST LOVE POETRY, IT IS . . . what I am!!!! (vivianfale 6/28/06) I Love the LettersI love the letters that flow from his heart, from his eyes from his face as he gazes into my eyes...ever so casually, all else disappears.
I look upon the countenance of his face and I am embraced from the letters breathing upon me from the thick midst of his unrequited breathe he doesn't even know he is breathing, for whence our eyes embraced we forgot we possessed such ability... The words spoken by Tom Cruise, in "Jerry McGuire, "you had me at h-e-l-l-o, held themselves frozen in my mind. Yet my mind doesn't even know it's thinking for it has absconded into the denseness of his presence. With just one glance I sense he knows he has captivated me, but I'd hate to be so easy....though....I love the letters I see in his eyes, imagine in his t-o-u-c-h...he's playing me pluck, pluck...in a thwarted jazzy bizarre arrangement dissonant to the ears of lookers on, we alone can hear. I love the words he spills from his soul as they form and fall formlessly into my mind, my body goes wild and makes way for the kill~I can't sleep in the night~for though I have never consciously felt the touch of his chocolate artistic hands, his letters continually glide across my mind, they tickle and stir me from the inside out..."twinkle, twinkle" she wiggled her nose. I am a woman undone with just one look, the l-e-t-t-e-r-s that l-o-v-e can't s-p-e-l-l...create elation and f-r-u-s-t-r-ation and sa-tis-fac-tion in the wa-ting.... for it to be dictioned in the real moments that time alone can deliver unto me. He doesn't need paprus, nor pen, nor pencil, for nor jot nor tittle could nearly justify! ~vgale~ (c) 2007 |
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