Tuesday, September 27, 2011

There's a Fire in My Heart that Can't be Put Down

"The past is really almost as much a work of the imagination as the future." - Jessamyn West



Lament for a Syllable

Some days it builds up,
a stirring from within me,
to spew out Haiku

In a little while,
faster than you'd even think,
it feels natural.

Every new sentence and its syllable structure find a sweet balance.

Once it's effortless,
the careful counting of words,
then you start to play.

After all, what is the meaning of a[n] Haiku? What's a single breathe?

Though you still may hold to twelve syllables at once, your thoughts will run wild...

It's not just a game, every word you hear whispered, considered with care...

No longer interchangeable as grains of sand. They are diamonds!

And still you hear them.
You hear the soft whisperings.
They sound like longing.

Longing for meaning.
Words demand to have purpose.
They beg to be heard.

As important as the sound each word will create, the silence after.



Hitler disagrees:



"I mean, go figure. You prepare your home for an assault and you don’t take zombies into consideration. I’d fallen victim to one of the other classic blunders, along with not getting involved in a land war in Asia and never going in against a Sicilian when death was on the line." - Harry Dresden
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