Writing is the thing that teaches us to understand the experience we cannot command or comprehend. Living is a riot, constant impressions, wild digressions, unbanished obsessions, mythic approximations, and passionate exhibitions.
Love is real, no poetic fairytale; it sometimes bites with destructive force. There are other times it breathes life back into a being near become a cold, bloodless corpse. Heedless, love carries headless need into ages where hearts aflame assuage the blame for falling again.
I.
When what you most want
Remains beyond ability
You become adept
Using CREATIVITY
To fulfill some hopes and dreams.
II.
I am not ideal
But being real is enough
For those loving me.
III.
I have discovered
The wild child passionate self
Does exist still.
IV.
I could sing you blue,
Golden, or bright rainbow hues;
I would disappear
In the arrangement of notes,
Unrecognized within you.
V.
Love plays, tackling us,
In fields where flowers obey
Injunctions to fade;
We are colors resisting
What makes delight history.
Prompt: Create something showing how writing or art rescue from the forgetfulness of greedy insanity.
Thankfulness:
No television to distract.
Productiveness.
Moleskine.
Love.
Creativity.
I am glad you found Chronicles, but my current site is Haphazard Creative. In the sidebar, there are three methods to follow the site. Utilize one of those, or come back when your life allows. Any comments, likes, shares, suggestions, or thoughts are welcome. When you interact with creation, you impact lives.
Everything on Chronicles is © Jo Ann J. A. Jordan.
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