The poetry of my heart spills onto the page in blue ink and fervent sighs The poetry of my heart is written on the wings of dreams and nights of longing The poetry of my heart negate shadows of terrors not voiced The poetry of my heart stands tall against this world Copyright (C) 2020 Penny Wilson Photo by Alex Azabache from Pexels
I find that my time here on WordPress has become therapeutic. Those of us that write have this inner voice that pushes us to the keyboard. I do. For me it’s a need, an itch I must scratch.
What I write here doesn’t amount to a hill of beans and there are times that I am surprised by the people that still follow me. (kind souls)
What I write here is an extension of me. It’s a way to express myself and to tell my story. MY story.
Writing affords me the freedom we mortals do not normally get in the real world. In my writing world, I have the power to do anything I wish. I can fly, sing, die and rise again. People are created, perish and do as I please them to do.
As a child I devoured books. I always had my nose in a book. It was my entertainment. It was my way to travel and experience the things I knew would never really happen to me in the real world.
I think this love of reading and love of books (thank you Mom), is why Writing is so important to me. I am now the one on the other side of that book cover, providing the escape, the entertainment and the fantasy to any who care to look.
Those of you close to me, I do want to caution you. What you see here is written For Me. If you don’t like it, fine. I didn’t write it for you. 🙂
This post has taken shape in a way that I did not expect. It always surprises me at what actually ends up on the page. I started out thinking about going down a very different path. But that’s alright. That “different path” can be another post at another time!