Again the raindrops screech,
With sound of distant prayer calls
A numbness sets in
Pink, purple, point
Quietly gets into a hazy spin
With the smell of coffee, blueberries and chips
My emotion relieves,
Rage fades into melody
With sight of umbrellas afloat,
Cement sets down
In pasty blocks beneath the sun.
This wears off my deadness
And cars are loud and maddening again
Making me rush off my dream.
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I write a lot, which keeps me off the streets and out of trouble. There is always something to write about, always a new story to craft. Not writing, for me, is like trying to hold back a sneeze. Learning to write was the most powerful influence in my life. I can still remember the awe I felt when I realized I could put real words onto paper and tell out a story. From that first ‘a-ha’ moment I knew I wanted to write.
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