Empty Stories

I am told that I should write lines that will a picture make cold breeze blows bearing all warmth away carrying just a whisper softly to my ears a distant sound I can barely hear somewhere distant somewhere far away and I do gaze looking about that my eyes might find from once it comes in the distance I can see dark shadows that move towards me somehow inside a growing fear a growing tremble the weakens me darkness flows towards me now on rising wind of freezing cold a growing thunder I can hear making now my muscles weak in fearful gaze I cannot see what it is approaching me it has no form of sharp lines nor colors bright that I can see no raking angles corners form of colors bright of blue red and green just dark grayness undefined is the darkness rushing towards me rumbling roar greatly grows but no lightning flashing bright no sharp sound to understand and no meaning to be found rushing wind rips at my clothes and all my warmth is carried away and filled with fear I am overwhelmed at the darkness so undefined a pinpoint of brightness forms but it lies within of me of colors warm the slowly fill and blooms with hope that I can feel flowing darkness that does not define evil menace that fills the mind sharp angles hard that pierce the heart cannot stand pure art of words like these I would not write that brings no passion to the heart give no reason to stop and think a different picture that each might see I would of emotions paint speak of love in the warm sunshine laying mid flowers blooming bright soft scents carried upon warm breeze hearts that beat within the breast hopes that soar in summer’s breeze but hard angles do they want squares and circles and angles sharp reds and blues and purples and pink and slashing rain so freezing cold lightning flashes and thunder roars freezing wind ripping warmth away cold rain falling slashing hard hard cold road of blackest form not of love and beauty warmth flowing curves the draw the eye rhythmic motions that call within emotions flowing to overwhelm what I would write they do not want and so hard choices I must make to write to what they would hear or of the words that I would say I will choose the other path I walk the way that I would go and if it be I walk alone and that is the path that I shall choose