Thursday, April 18, 2019

Flowers and Fireworks



He sat down and started writing, he knew, people, he saw, people
He wrote people like John Kennedy played a crowd, intuitively, passionately
There was no method to it, it was natural and laced with dark reality
The kind of reality tipped with truth and tragedy, all angles, all consuming
Each person a complex maze of paradoxes based in desire and fear, hard to chew
But when a thousand of his characters filled the pages, glistening like dew on the dandelions
The portrait painted was as solid as the keystone in a castles hearth, it was breathtaking
The people were flowers and fireworks on the waning of a soft summer day, he knew people

6 comments:

  1. He's quite a writer, quite an observer. Love your ending. You are good about bringing life to everything you write. So glad to be reading your work again. I've missed it. Thank you for your kind words on my poem. That means a lot to me. And thanks for taking part in the prompt.

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  2. Beautifully said, strong words and lovely rhythms.

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  3. So seldom one is able to find an author these days who is truly innovative:
    There was no method to it, it was natural and laced with dark reality
    The kind of reality tipped with truth and tragedy...

    This is what the world needs again.
    Thanks for your lovely commments on my poems, C. I do appreciate your thoughts.

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  4. This is exactly the kind of writers the world needs today!!❤️

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  5. I would love to be a writer like this... to know people... (I need to know myself first though)

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  6. What a wonderful gift to have. I love your last line!

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