Sta.sh
The stories we could tell
with but a single narrated verse -
the seams our everlasting conscience is woven of,
but for the mere apparitional presence
of common sense.
Celestial verses of endless enigma,
tempestuous tales of the beyond,
not simply written
but composed –
complex symphonies of idiosyncrasies,
emphasised by our distinct verses.
Words are but the bare flesh
of the sublime written art.
Simply a shell, a visual portrayal
of the soul that lies within -
the true essence of an epic,
the inner pith of a poem,
the nucleus of a novella...
imagination.
The common writer’s sword and shield,
- be it factual or fiction -
imagination represents who we are
through the phrases we manage to weave
as the seams of everlasting conscience are formed
in the single narrated verses
of the stories we manage to tell.
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