I woke up this morning wanting to write warmly to you. I had half of a poem written,

When I realised that I had been merely placing words together.

There was no truth behind them.

No feeling being drug up from the depths of my gut.

No passion in that place that exists behind the words.

 

Because such a place surely exists.

 

It is a dark hole that is never-ending.

It is talon fingers

That tickle our brain when eating poetry,

One juicy simile at a time.

The chewing gum sentence that sticks fervently to the side of our memory

Long after we’ve fallen into a gripping story.

It is the place of lost worlds and forgotten wonders.

The reason we crave the written word; why we long to read and write the stories of the mind.

 

The place behind the words is beautiful, terrifying, and an astounding space — a stretched tunnel with many off-shoots.

A cosmic forest. A cavernous fissure upon a moon made long ago.

It is an infinite thing only because our imaginations are unbounded and limitless.

This place is as abundant as our confidence in it.

 

The place behind the words, is the writer’s ambition.

It is the reader’s refuge.

It is the room where the creator and consumer meet.

An endgame and inauguration alike.

And it is my advice to you as the reader, as the writer, as the taster of literature and the ejector of words,

To find this place and vow to live there contentedly,

Each time you delve into words which are meant to be consumed by wanting minds.

 

By Lindsay Brown

From: Canada

Website: http://doingthelifethings.com

Facebook URL: https://www.facebook.com/doingthelifethings/