Quiet the mind and the soul can hear the echoing of the voices that ring in the ear.
So quiet and so far between I hear the pen on the page.
The ink that blotches into one spot .
Challenge the utensil in the fingers that grip the stem of the instrument .
A block is the writer that lacks the judgment temporarily, displacing a frown on the face.
A challenge to the mind of the most bizarre querys touch the page in good standing.
A writer in itself is justice to the poet that seeks to achieve an intention of the chorus that rings true.
The dignity of the pen and the mind that write in unison can blemish and crow bringing a set of standards conducted along the page.
Write not but write yet to inspiration.
A desire to truths that outline with a collaboration of words, ideas , querys and resolvement.
A writer will write as a singer will sing.
An attempt of chained melodies outlasting the light of a candle. Lit with wick expired to bare wax melt.
Do offer words to another that will bring a conversation into the making.
Comfort is the fire that tenders down to the crackling embers popping and snapping as the heat outpours into the room.
Do not fear the writer of the words that dot along the page .
For words themselves will express tenderness, a sharp tongue or possibly just a story inspired by creativity while delicately calculated.
The dignity of a writer is the weakness of the heart.
As the heart pours out, the dignity binds the two together as one.
Float those words along the paper.
Dip the feather in the finest black ink you can find .
Allow the pen to outlast the candlelight burning bright and dimming with age as the fire crackles during the night.
No block in this department my writer friend.
Your dignity is intact and your confession has been cured for all those to read.
A penmanship of the heart is witnessed.
