My writing tale

Picking the pen and book emotionally work me up, after a revitalising rest, I write with pathos.
With a flailing heart and lots of adrenaline rushing throu my veins, I write my 51st poem, then my next and next…
And with a feeling of inflammation, in a reproving manner, I scribble my heart onto a small piece of paper. Thinking in decibels(whatever that means), then this thanatophobic feeling,  gimlet eyed I gaze at my surroundings, a serene environment full of sweet sounds and unfounded scents. A frugal thought at each sight, frolicking all through.

The sweet caress from the bed of roses and sea of lilies, I siddle past the thought of suicide and altercations from the weaver birds,  looking at the owl with loathe, saffron coloured. Sweating profusely at each written words, at loggerheads with my being..

It  all lies in my head, the thought of the write.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “My writing tale

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s