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Wednesday, September 24, 2014

On Writing

Words are spontaneous -
New souls born
With each utterance of a mouth.
Never the same
Magical;
Tragic.

They are conceived in the heat of passion -
Between the lust of the mind
And the thirst of the voice.
Our throats dry
Our souls parched.

Each word is an expression -
A groan or a moan
For the pleasure and pain
That we derive from every creation.

So let it out,
Don't hold it in.
Open your luscious lips
Mumble and scream
Of all the words you need to hear.


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