Happy Friday, lovely ladies and classy gents! I hope everyone had a fantastic Thanksgiving. I personally broke my pants, so my holiday was a success (I go hard). If you didn’t catch the post on my Facebook page, know that I am incredibly thankful for you. Whether you’re a follower, a frequent reader, or somebody just stopping by, I am grateful for your support. Y’all are the best!
I wrote something up that I suppose could be considered poetry. I don’t know, really. I typically deal in prose. Whatever it may be, here it is. If you have any thoughts about the piece, please share them! I do the macarena every time I get a comment.
Quill in hand.
Paper on desk.
All quiet save for a ticking clock.
I turn the nib of the quill to my chest.
I eye the thing, the sword, knowing where it must go.
I plunge the thing into my sternum.
The incision is but an avenue. Now for the surgical slice.
I drag the nib from left to write, tearing at tendons, opening my chest enough
That I may reach inside and retrieve my heart.
I seize the throbbing organ and hold it over the page on the desk before me.
That its tales and fancies may gush onto the page.
Until the blank sheet is stained red with blood and soaked wet with tears indicative of joys and sorrows.
Now quill is in hand, nib is on paper.
With an emboldened hand I trace words into the human substance drenching the page before me
And spilling out over my desk.
There is no trick, here.
There is only explosion of soul, here.
An explosion of soul with a title.
Today, millions will be assaulting the malls and department stores in droves like walkers from the Walking Dead. I’ll leave you with some food for thought: Isn’t it interesting how Black Friday comes directly after the day when we celebrate what we have?