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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Inspirational
- Subject: Art / Music / Theater / Dance
- Published: 04/21/2013
Her Voice
Born 1963, F, from Loule, PortugalHer Voice.
She chooses those to speak for her in many varied ways. Words aren’t always needed as tone stands vibrantly alone. Wasted centuries tossed and torn tremble under her wings yet still she singles out messengers to prise open sombre tombs. Minds dressed in ego chortle judge and moan, regardless the artist flicks his paintbrush lightening up the room. The writer wonders why his imagination takes flight while eagerly filling pages often unappreciated and rejected with thoughtless spite. The eagle eyed designer creates majestic gowns for silly repetitive functions with folk who act like clowns. She stitches silk together colours merge as one. Emotion swells within her with great pride, yet still the questions rise. Questions never uttered, but planted none the less. Feeble minds with clipped wings and tongues that lash like fire. Envious of natural talent and those with echoed voice they cannot let the bloom pulsate the world may disappear. Yet still her voice vibrates in many who cannot ignore her plea. Artistic souls shout her name, salute her every turn. They see her in almost everything a hunger unappeased. Isolated yet guided, unable to disarm as her voice vibrates inside encouraging and warm. You’ll find her in the seven seas, cloaked with deep blue skies. She lies in every grain of sand on each and every shore. An essence far too deep for human to explore, diligently she operates in the breath of inspiration. Take up your tool, whatever it may be. Paint, write, dance or caress the potter’s wheel and always feel the sail of Mother Nature under the breeze.
Annie Frame copyright April 2013.
Her Voice(Annie Frame)
Her Voice.
She chooses those to speak for her in many varied ways. Words aren’t always needed as tone stands vibrantly alone. Wasted centuries tossed and torn tremble under her wings yet still she singles out messengers to prise open sombre tombs. Minds dressed in ego chortle judge and moan, regardless the artist flicks his paintbrush lightening up the room. The writer wonders why his imagination takes flight while eagerly filling pages often unappreciated and rejected with thoughtless spite. The eagle eyed designer creates majestic gowns for silly repetitive functions with folk who act like clowns. She stitches silk together colours merge as one. Emotion swells within her with great pride, yet still the questions rise. Questions never uttered, but planted none the less. Feeble minds with clipped wings and tongues that lash like fire. Envious of natural talent and those with echoed voice they cannot let the bloom pulsate the world may disappear. Yet still her voice vibrates in many who cannot ignore her plea. Artistic souls shout her name, salute her every turn. They see her in almost everything a hunger unappeased. Isolated yet guided, unable to disarm as her voice vibrates inside encouraging and warm. You’ll find her in the seven seas, cloaked with deep blue skies. She lies in every grain of sand on each and every shore. An essence far too deep for human to explore, diligently she operates in the breath of inspiration. Take up your tool, whatever it may be. Paint, write, dance or caress the potter’s wheel and always feel the sail of Mother Nature under the breeze.
Annie Frame copyright April 2013.
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