“I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all,” -Richard Wright
In an old damp cave or a treasure chest under the sea, scattered amongst pages, worn out pencils and to-do list, I’ve collected fragments of writing without a home, with no prospects in sight. These words are to the point and do not own any lavish pretenses of grandeur. They simply speak their truth as directly as possible, such as the truth a child will convey out of sheer innocence.
I fear these fragments which splintered off from the rest of the crowd will fill volumes if I allow them as much and bring me to task for my truth. But I will do away with my unwarranted sense of fear and let this winding road of words take me where they may lead.
For it is these words when used in different form and measure tell the story of our lives. Such stories conjunct other stories creating a collective story, word by word. When perfected, and connected, the sound of music playing in perfect harmony is heard. They dance to the rhythm of meter and time on the road to meaning and understanding.
*photo courtesy of Pixabay
*adapted from, It’s Only Words and Short Verse For…