Congratulations !
You have been awarded points.
Thank you for !
- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Inspirational
- Subject: Art / Music / Theater / Dance
- Published: 01/18/2014
Little People and the SPARK......
Born 1963, F, from Loule, PortugalLittle People and the SPARK.......
Desperate eyes purposefully caress golden leaf pages of ancient manuscripts, searching for something within scales of time. Sorcery and magic take flight in the lives of others promising answers to problems on the rocky road of fabricated reality. Ears flap eagerly absorbing dulled tone of so-called liberated. The beat of the drum is loud, constant.....dare to step out, break free. Run at the pace of heart-felt desire, capture dreams tenderly released long ago. Skip to the lonesome rhythm of distant land. The land you know, deep inside, quietly waiting for recognition. No eyes can see, no ears hear, perception being the key to unlock chastity of the self. Inner solace beyond physical constriction waits forever, it seems. The crowd continues to dominate while inner turmoil groans, as rustic key urges. She sweeps past all in ignorance of her magnificent wings in flight and envelopes all in welcome. And so the quiet soul sits in contemplation as she strokes his hair, the mind races as ideas flow. Like a train on a track to anywhere with fuel to last forever. The book will state his name and so much more, it will open the door. His door and offer release. And so she sits on the shore as waves encourage her to paint the masterpiece. Eyes from other shores admire exclusively, as The Mother strokes brush. Tight, sad heart relaxes as colors merge, fulfilling destiny of one. In another place at the same time a young man stares aimlessly into the void, pain and anguish fill him until he reaches for the old guitar. Silent tears retreat as connection is made. Strumming gently as song insists, he melts into self. The curtains move in the shabby abode as music and song fill the air as she peeks. Beauty flies, without trailing ego. The old homeless man sits weary on the park bench, wishing life away. She carries all to him and delivers gold. Tattered, worn boot starts to tap as music fills soul, hopeful eyes rise. Her majestic rays settle on him and dance on his smile. Another BRIGHT SPARK touched for now, she breathes.......
By Annie Frame. Copyright January 2014.
Little People and the SPARK......(Annie Frame)
Little People and the SPARK.......
Desperate eyes purposefully caress golden leaf pages of ancient manuscripts, searching for something within scales of time. Sorcery and magic take flight in the lives of others promising answers to problems on the rocky road of fabricated reality. Ears flap eagerly absorbing dulled tone of so-called liberated. The beat of the drum is loud, constant.....dare to step out, break free. Run at the pace of heart-felt desire, capture dreams tenderly released long ago. Skip to the lonesome rhythm of distant land. The land you know, deep inside, quietly waiting for recognition. No eyes can see, no ears hear, perception being the key to unlock chastity of the self. Inner solace beyond physical constriction waits forever, it seems. The crowd continues to dominate while inner turmoil groans, as rustic key urges. She sweeps past all in ignorance of her magnificent wings in flight and envelopes all in welcome. And so the quiet soul sits in contemplation as she strokes his hair, the mind races as ideas flow. Like a train on a track to anywhere with fuel to last forever. The book will state his name and so much more, it will open the door. His door and offer release. And so she sits on the shore as waves encourage her to paint the masterpiece. Eyes from other shores admire exclusively, as The Mother strokes brush. Tight, sad heart relaxes as colors merge, fulfilling destiny of one. In another place at the same time a young man stares aimlessly into the void, pain and anguish fill him until he reaches for the old guitar. Silent tears retreat as connection is made. Strumming gently as song insists, he melts into self. The curtains move in the shabby abode as music and song fill the air as she peeks. Beauty flies, without trailing ego. The old homeless man sits weary on the park bench, wishing life away. She carries all to him and delivers gold. Tattered, worn boot starts to tap as music fills soul, hopeful eyes rise. Her majestic rays settle on him and dance on his smile. Another BRIGHT SPARK touched for now, she breathes.......
By Annie Frame. Copyright January 2014.
- Share this story on
- 6
COMMENTS (0)