Young Writers Society

Dream Deep · 2006-07-31T22:11:57Z

On Spiritos - A Poetic Freewrite: 31 July, 2006 A none too lucid rambling of my subconscious, from a long, long time ago. NRJ-TSR. Enjoy! . . . I’ve found that you do not always have to be good, Walking a hundred miles in an unforgiving desert, repenting. You do not always need to be the best, the perfect word, the perfect turn of phrase; The inspiration for someone else not living, not loving, repenting. Spiritos , you need. Pen, paper. Imagination. Writing what hurts as long as you live, writing what’s good, discovering. You do not need to write what they tell you to write, halfway to a worthless ideal and already on its downside. The inspiration that they never could find, that they used up long ago, discovering. I see random harmony, pale moths asleep on clouds, Dreams that I've had, faces I can’t place but vaguely remember loving. A rainy night and my muse drops by for tea, tells me a story and expects me to write it down. And I write every word, debating, hating, loving. Life goes on, after all. Takes your inspiration with it, like a wild and lovely phantom wind, flowing. Spiritos , images, white roses against a stormy sky, fish in a river, a vase full of your tears. Wild geese fly by your window at night, the un-noted inspiration, flowing. I’ve found that sometimes you can close your eyes, Pretend that certain music is yours alone, written for you, singing. You can see yourself far away someday; wind, trees and a view of the stars. Out there in the snow by yourself, singing. And it’s true that you do not always have to be good, Just to stay caring, writing, loving. Putting your imagination down, thick and bold like calligraphic paint on the page, And getting a satisfied sigh, a tip of a hat... to get up and go on loving. For Kay, who recently discovered and was inspired by Tchaikovsky.

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Dream Deep

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Sat Jan 20, 2007 9:11 pm

Dream Deep says... · Sat Jan 20, 2007 9:11 pm

I don't if I can possibly help it - it usually comes out terrible, gets tangled up in metaphor and ends up with no discernible subject. I'm no poet; just a writer with too much time on her hands.

I'm glad you liked it, Snoink, thank you. ^_^

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what are stories if not just vehicles for the pain of your own heart
— soundofmind

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