Of the pestering,
The twisting,
The purging of my words,
The way they are spilled,
Like an exploding pen to paper,
Splattered on the wall,
As if all of it were in vain,
Patronized through life,
And battered down,
Only to find that those who smeared my words,
Just in hopes that in would take me aback,
My feet have slide,
But not once did I dare move,
Stronger and higher then they know,
My pen to paper will spread and they will all know,
All the know the power,
Words are meant to be spread,
And such is the life of language
Your words are not in vain my friend, they matter so much,some times it seems to so few, but you will be found, like me I am writing, this sentence
ReplyDelete"We can never arrive at resolution of conflict by basing despicable actions on fearsome and cohersive conduct.I write tis words I know that exist, but no one knows, not even the dictionary but I do not desist and i found you. See. our words splatter like Angel feathers, some times it seems not, but it is. we grow through turmoil, and splattering , is that.