My quill I rise in vertical stance,
letting it flow with Divine orchestration.
Its feather posture drifts as if still on birds wing,
spiraling in graceful form.
Words turn into sentences.
Sentences phases
as vellum explodes with visions.
My quill instrument vibrates
in scripted form dancing
to make waves cross ocean-like sheet.
Moments melt away.
Words become lines that
carry bubbles of thoughts
meant to float into other minds.
Sentences become bench posts
that corrals a perspective
as images collide on page.
My quill remains vertical in mind
at all times
as writer merges with moment.
As day evolves with more fuel
to push pen.
As page glistens from sun of heart.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 8:17 AM UTC
My quill I rise in vertical stance,
letting it flow with Divine orchestration.
Its feather posture drifts as if still on birds wing,
spiraling in graceful form.
Words turn into sentences.
Sentences phases
as vellum explodes with visions.
My quill instrument vibrates
in scripted form dancing
to make waves cross ocean-like sheet.
Moments melt away.
Words become lines that
carry bubbles of thoughts
meant to float into other minds.
Sentences become bench posts
that corrals a perspective
as images collide on page.
My quill remains vertical in mind
at all times
as writer merges with moment.
As day evolves with more fuel
to push pen.
As page glistens from sun of heart.
Inspired by Pagan Paul Thank you so much for being you.
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