I’m addicted to the flow.
The page, white as snow,
Beckons me.
Stories must be told,
The words felt in bold.
I want to break the mold,
And write my own destiny.
There’s no greater joy in the world,
Than when a scene begins to unfurl.
The place comes alive, and I set myself aside
To tell the tales within.
I only have to begin,
And the words start to flow
Onto that page, white as snow.
But no matter
When or where I go,
I know,
I’d rather
Write for me
Than write for show.
Beautiful! I can really relate to this one, Ashlie!! 🙂
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Thanks for reading, Jim! I’m sure many writers feel this way. We’ve a love affair with words. 😊
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Reblogged this on Masons Mind Menagerie and commented:
A wonderful new poem from my friend and author Ashlie Harris.
Go check it and her website out now.
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A beautiful piece of poetry. As a writer this has very deep meaning for me. Great job.
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Thanks, Mason! Glad you liked it!
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I really do, beautiful work.
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