This Soul of Words
There lies within me a passion, this undying passion that shall not surrender to me. 'Tis not the love of man nor beast, but of words; words that first caress then smother and engulf my inner being. Oh the pain of these words! Have I the gift that is merely bestowed upon the chosen few? I must, for if I be found empty of this, I shall seek to possess it until my life be ended. Of this passion I ponder its beginning. My pen fights to bring forth this eruption of eloquence, perhaps utter nonsense - but these words are mine. They appear and reappear never to leave me. My tears have fallen in search of these words. My emotions linger only to enrage me and interrupt my dreams. My heart hath bled words of love and sorrow, and yet this passion remains still. I can’t ignore its loudness! This thundering loudness is more than I can bear! I must possess this gift of words, but where? Will they be lost in my frustrations and truth (if I dare?) Come forth my passion! Wrench free from my heart and spill onto my page that I might see what lies beneath my soul, this soul of words.
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