Word pirates clucking like shrews have a zealous need to find bitter crab meat between story stones.
It’s a picking and a poking, cracking at shells to splinter into the very heart of each sentence.
You can smell those that are yoked to the ravenous flies from the unrepentant narrators of doom.
I think it be true that fair words will breathe life into the belly of any truly hungered soul.
What a glorious feeling it would be to spend hours sifting and sorting the paged shores in contented learning.
From Stratford-upon-Avon there came a master of definitive ink.
I’ve a curious mind to wander back to the first days of one timeless poet.
I would seek to become supple in Shakespeare’s child ghost and redefine my early thoughts.
Deep is my desire for William to light his lantern in these dark grumbling days.
I’d ask of him to pen me a Juliet with my name the prime rose without thorns so there’d be naught to puncture Romeo’s heart.
A kiss more sweeter is on my lips to give ….
William would have found my minky sweat his full moon delight if we’d happened a chance under the same sun.
Oh for now I will close close my eyes and interrupt this day’s thickie, the debit of morning toil and afternoon’s lumber.
I’ll bring the nightfall underneath my eyelids and let sleep kiss my cheeks with a warmful loving breath.
The day’s welcome mat transforms without hesitation to a magic ride but first I know I must listen to those that gather at the door.
They stand with a reckoning as they beckon the release of any bemoans still flat upon my daily plate.
I’ll try to forget what did not come to be gold and instead soar and be a faraway twinkle in someone’s eye.