Sometimes I do this weird thing where I write in my journal whatever pops into my head--doesn't have to make sense or be poetic. Sometimes it's just words, and I try not to think about what I'm trying to say; try not to force it to go in any specific direction. I'm often surprised by what I find. It's kind-of cool. Whatdya say I try it now, and you can respond with comments written the same way--just for fun?
He wasn't awe-struck for misinterpretation's sake. He fell short only on occassion-- and then only with beautiful, painful harmony. The last words spoken keep night watch over the paul bearers. But Paul didn't mind it. He loathed and needed his solitude. Blasts of scorching wind move beyond where I'd been, but I'd do it all again for a taste of sunshine. Borders surround the town I once knew...and black beyond the clouds beckons as if to a stranger. Dream in peace. Sleep in the dark, and wake in the light. Drink deeply from the sea. And far off shore, when you see the trail, don't hide from me.
Weird. That sort-of turned into poetry. Maybe I'll coin a new phrase: "Poetry on the Fly"...what do you think?
