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Rated: E · Poetry · Inspirational · #2062234
"How do I give life to that which I've felt?" ((2nd Draft))
Surrounded in fiery tendrils of light,
it makes your heart race and pulls you in tight.
Tossing and turning it haunts you at night,
deprives you of sleep, struggle as you might.

Getting up from your bed, you answer it's call.
Disturbed from your slumber, you throw on your shawl.
Blank are the pages as you stare at your wall,
in the distance a clock chimes, down the hall.

"How do I give life to that which I've felt?"
You wonder as your resolve starts to melt.
You start searching your dreams, where it last dwelt
and try to put words to what you've been dealt.

Like a shadow that fades, retreating from light,
the feeling subsides, out of mind, out of sight.
You take up your pen, seeking new words to write,
when out of the dark, it returns from its spite.

The words start to flow yet you notice it not,
as you pour the words out, unfolding the plot.
Of hero's and villains, from valor to rot,
weaving their tales as you determine their lot.

The hours go by when you notice the light.
Bird's morning calls, ringing true, ringing bright.
Seeing your work, in the dawns early light,
thanking the voices that haunt at midnight.
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