You ask of which I am most afeart, the rumbling tumblings of the troll beneath the bridge or the tinkering favours of an eccentric fairy godmother. Alas, it is the marzipan crumbs of inspiration leading me down the brambled garden path which most unsettle me; the ink that does not write; the unpainted page with not a gingerbread house...in sight.
‘If you ever find yourself in the wrong story, leave.’
- Mo Willems, Goldilocks and the Three Dinosaurs.
Go into the forest,
Listen to the beauty of nature.
The leaves will sing a song for you,
Whilst the rustling wind will break out into a sonnet or a ballad,
The trees will gossip about the good old days.
The onomatopoeia of the animals,
The caves will invite you for a sleep over,
The cliffs will whisper their secrets,
And even the rumbling, meandering river will have a story to tell,
In some chapters you will be mentioned in it.
The songs which shake me moreso
Than the rumble strips on the freeway
Break down my all my hope and change
And strip me of the passing you
And also of my memory outside the window
Old songs - The modern day version of the officer censored letter
Rumbling seats, walls and sounds.
Gleams of light
Hold me tight
i need to feel safe again..
— The End —