Furious Scribbling

Pen meets paper; images take the form of
beautifully crafted words. I stare down at the
rhythmic pulsing of my heartbeat , a haunting
echo of my soul imprinted upon the page,
completely lost in this moment of pure beauty
knowing that all too soon the earth will spin
faster and faster until the towering trees are
a kaleidoscope of colors blurring together,
changing with the slightest gust of wind.
Streams of conversations will rush into
a steady river until the only sound that
can be heard is the clouds’ slow consistent
drip.

drip.

drip.
The cold piercing rain will splatter the pages,
leaving me with only the faint whisperings of a
heartbeat, the distant call of an echo.
Shreds of paper will clutter the tearstained ground
And I will cling to the memory
of the voice inside of me that wrote –
“Press in, my child, for I am
your sword and your shield.”

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