Writing

Every day I try to listen and hear a story or see a situation that will inspire the deep roots of thought, creativity and incite conspicuous attempts at expressing myself in some form of a rhythmic rendition of words that might at the end sound and read, mellifuously. It is my wish that someday, somehow my melody of word structure will create a syntax that evokes emotion, sensitivity and most of all paint a picture, a true depiction of my heart.

The voice of Mother’s song every day when waking in her presence evoked this inherent desire for being enmeshed in music. Whether vocally or instrumentally, music was the string that ran through all of our hearts, my brothers and sister. None of us, unfortunately, pursued a discipline in music, although, my one brother and myself did expose our prodigious vocal chords for a small time frame as singers in a couple of local ’rock-n-roll’ bands.

Because of my not pursuing and perpetuating that gift that was inherited, my focus has turned to developing a semblance of ‘wordsmith’ discipline. This shall be my self apportioned exercise through my waning years even after my vocal chords can no longer squeeze a note in pitch and my ears can barely hear, I shall still be able to paint with finger strokes a picture or portrait some may appreciate.

Within is born this desire to sing
With words that form lyrics
And the syntax in a sentence, a melody.

Without a guitar or a piano
Just words written and spoken
In rhythm, sounds of song.

Sometimes ears will listen to a melody
Without pitch and or tone,
that is when words written or spoken
Shall evoke the music in one’s ears.

So when the age of years take away
The touch of fingers on ivory’s
Or flex on strings
They will still be able
to place word on writ.