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A Manner of Speaking | Scribbling in Color
https://scribblingincolor.wordpress.com/2013/10/14/a-manner-of-speaking
Words mean only what you let them. A Manner of Speaking. The word hangs,. Like mud thrown in slow motion. From a passing car. And the driver couldn’t care less,. Of the monument to ignorance he erected. The statue begs to be corrected,. Does he even know what it means? It’s used in so many contexts,. I’m vexed, befuddled, confused,. Not amused in the least. At the ways the word is used. And it’s a stain on her name,. A pain that may not be seen from without,. A pain within this word that hangs,. Address ...
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When Silence Was Better | Scribbling in Color
https://scribblingincolor.wordpress.com/2014/08/19/when-silence-was-better
Words mean only what you let them. When Silence Was Better. There is a moment that you can’t take back,. When fear rides atop anticipation. Through the currents of air. That navigate the room. It’s the moment when you set your jaw. With the intake of breath,. You commit. You open your mouth,. The moment when your breath rushes. And across your tongue. When. The tremors begin, and turn to vibrations. Moments when the words are released. And take to the air like caged birds,. Unburdened by bars,. No Friend...
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Reflections on a Cloud of Smoke | Scribbling in Color
https://scribblingincolor.wordpress.com/2013/12/01/reflections-on-a-cloud-of-smoke
Words mean only what you let them. Reflections on a Cloud of Smoke. The smoker, the loud girls leaving the building, and anyone else watching would tell you that I passed right through it. They’d say I kept on walking, never strayed, always at least one boot on the sidewalk. They’re not wrong. They’re not right, either. I believe there are places and times where the universe bends for each of us and doubles back onto itself, like a unique bow tied with the ribbons of our lives. I believe when we hit ...
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Our Quiet Place | Scribbling in Color
https://scribblingincolor.wordpress.com/2013/09/21/our-quiet-place
Words mean only what you let them. There is a story of restless hearts. The cold, granite wall. Every pore, every crevice. Betrays the love we cast about. I nestle beneath the forest canopy,. My skin prickling from shaded air,. And I watch; I listen. Memories scramble up the rock. Like shadows, cast benignly by the. Memories clatter back down. Like autumn leaves, becoming. Beautiful as they die. When I lean close enough, I can. Hear the whispers in the stone. Our secrets put to melody. Next post →. Liter...
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Darkest of Jungles | Scribbling in Color
https://scribblingincolor.wordpress.com/2014/01/16/darkest-of-jungles
Words mean only what you let them. There is a crack in my foundation. There has to be;. I refuse to believe that I left myself open. Somehow a seed found its way inside me,. Wriggling through the crack,. A seed of unrest hoping to grow. A seed isn’t something you notice. Small, insignificant it’s something. You overlook. It’s masked. Even a sprout can find a way to hide,. Lost beneath the broad leaves. Of our other emotions, curled up. In the shadows. A vine is harder to miss. That once sheltered it,.
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A Heavy Dose | Scribbling in Color
https://scribblingincolor.wordpress.com/2013/09/09/aheavydose
Words mean only what you let them. Like weary autumn leaves at dusk,. My eyes battle hopelessly with time. Alas they flutter peacefully,. Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window). Share on Facebook (Opens in new window). Click to share on Google (Opens in new window). Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window). Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window). Click to print (Opens in new window). Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Address never made public). Next post →.
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Sponge and Oil – A Poem Pair | Scribbling in Color
https://scribblingincolor.wordpress.com/2013/08/11/sponge-and-oil-a-poem-pair
Words mean only what you let them. Sponge and Oil – A Poem Pair. Who daily absorbs his surroundings,. Who bears the weight of our burdens. Soaks it all in. Who sometimes needs a squeeze. Who daily repels all he encounters,. And shoulders no burden. Who if you lean upon. Is sure to let you fall. Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window). Share on Facebook (Opens in new window). Click to share on Google (Opens in new window). Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window). Enter your comment here.
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How Sand Is Made | Scribbling in Color
https://scribblingincolor.wordpress.com/2013/08/26/how-sand-is-made
Words mean only what you let them. How Sand Is Made. The deep orange sun. Peeked carefully over the. As it listened to the. Frightening story of a. The rough bark bit into my palms,. Snagging the pages of my. Fortune and marring the. Drying ink. My knuckles were white and cold,. An icy mountain range. Jutting from the dry, brown terrain. In stark contrast of the dying wood. My bared feet,. Already missing the glowing warmth. Of the sun,. Hungrily drank the heat. From the darkening sand. Click to share on...
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Every Easter | Scribbling in Color
https://scribblingincolor.wordpress.com/2014/02/24/every-easter
Words mean only what you let them. Do you know the feeling you get. When you eat too many. That rests heavily in your stomach,. Doubling you over in a mild. Discomfort – an unpleasantness. Except it’s shared with that. Feeling of dread. The one that. Comes when my phone. That sinking feeling,. That rock descending slowly. Through the ocean of emotion. That forms when you drop by. To pick up your things. All of them. Forever. That feeling of sorrow. That buries itself deep in my gut. Solid three weeks once.