We are Their Reflection
A mother that fought
for truth and her cigarettes
taught me to be brave
A father who drank
who loved deeper than any
passed down compassion
A teacher that taught
gave me the freedom to learn
and made me feel wise
A friend who was there
on the good and bad decades
gave me strength to stand
We are the combination of those we seek
We are their reflection, whether that be strong or weak
To write
There is nothing I love more than to write.
To see the ink or the lead scribbled and scrawled over a page or even my own skin, it fills me with meaning.
The smell of ink and pencil lead always makes me feel slightly better after a hard day.
It's almost intoxicating and I find it hard to borderline impossible not to take a good long whiff of a page full of writing.
I love hearing the scratching of the tip of stationery and the feel of a pen or pencil in my fingers.
You would be surprised to know that I have, indeed, tasted pen ink and... Let's just say the taste was... was an unpleasant surprise which I would prefer to never experience again.
My tongue was dyed blue for ages... But that of course, is a story for another time.
And although I doubt anyone would read or enjoy this, I love to write and it was fun to write anyway.
Idle Thoughts
Do sheep count people to help get to sleep?
Better yet,
Do toes sing of humans at the edge of their feet?
Beasts slumber simply, with minds well at rest
They don't know the pain of the sad, human pest
Paintings for blind men, music for the deaf
It's a pointless endeavour, that's not worth the test
I don't know if sheep count people, to help fall asleep
But I do know
Those meant to count sheep, think of questions like these.