Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Words flit in, they flit out
and others just linger on, and on. Waiting to be placed
There are stories to be told. And then there are those we just hold.
Early Music(Medieval period)haunting, seeking out that very part of ones soul. There is just no explanation of why this brings joy. The emotional stir, that comes from within, has no words, it just is.
And yet to be continually drawn to it. To have the need, a desire beyond reproach
And I can not place the words of why.
Flitting in, flitting out.
Random posts. Random mini posts. Mull about. Bang around.
Quickly distracted and run away. All within a moment of existing.
Yet it was mine. All mine.
There is no why, just is.