|Posted by firstname.lastname@example.org on October 22, 2022 at 3:15 PM|
In the Middle of the Night, I awake and Write.
The nudge of my Dream becomea real yet unseen.
Then ink stains a page, magically bringing thoughts to be seen.
A science class.
Trimesters divided and explained.
What could happen when the carrier dies....will the idea survive?
Do we bury our ideas...or can we gift them?
Birthing a Book, Business. Birthing a Song, a new Venture; or simply a dream.
Do we bury within?
Will we bury it below?
Shall we gift it?
The footprints in the snow leave more blood than answers.
Oh a dream.
Oh a thought.
Revealing a story, a message, an inspiration as the ink dries on pages.
A teacher dies.
A flower exploded.
But...I repair it. I repair the flower, I kow the teacher.
The stain on the rug dries, and the truth of the lessons learned bring me guidance.
Looking at me with her fluffy hair...I know. I know.
"Listen to me" she says softly,
I cannot fathom her request...so I drive away.
The dogs are barking.
The snow is fresh.
He looks somber as I make a request.
"Open the Casket." I whisper to him.
She echos in my ear, "I am beautiful. Too beautiful for you."
I pull away from the embrace, learning he never did look her in the face.
In the middle of the night, I understand her fate.
Innocent yet guilty of a secret she had to face.
Hiding evidence, he plants what he must.
Knowing the truth of why he came home so late.
Now she is dead.
A bullet to the head.
And I am faced with ink stains on my bed.
Dreaming, Writing, Living, Breathing.
The visit of a dream, brings so much inspiration and yet so many questions.
Writing the answers is a process. Knowing the answer is a guess.
Sharing the story is a gift.