What would it be like to be inspired
Not by mere memory or idle dream
But by the strange visions one acquired
Courtesy of the celestial team?
Consider the expression of the Saint:
He is incredulous, almost dismayed
The stunning image that his scribblings paint
Is like music, but he is being played
The words flow from one mind to another
The second marks them out upon the page;
But of the ideas, one is the mother
The other might their meaning rarely gauge
Seldom do angels write books, anymore
Though many pretend they craft works galore
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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Feelings Never Die
It is Valentine's Day again, and it bought back memories that were over fifty years old. It bought me back to 1971, and I woke up and I knew my baby was due today. I was big and pregnant, and I felt like I was about to burst wide open. Imagine my surprise when the doctor told my I had a due date of February 14. I couldn't believe it, and since my baby was due today, I felt I could indulge myself a bit. I had gained a lot of weight, and chocolate was on the no-no list, but I had came to the end of this pregnancy, and I hoped it would be okay, after all I would deliver this baby today. So I walked across the street to the grocery story, and bought myself, a peppermint patty, covered in chocolate, my favorite. Me and my Valentine's baby would enjoy it together.
By Susan Payton2 days ago in Fiction
Comments (6)
As you may know, I'm not much of a poetry fan, but I like the concept this one broaches. What if some writers are nearly pens to be used by other beings?
Those last two lines really pack a punch. Wonderful piece!
Powerful! Incredible work! 💝
Wow! Best! Love it!
Another excellent sonnet. I’ve been wanting to see “Caravaggio’s Shadow” this year but still have not had a chance. Have you seen it yet?
Oooo, this was so profound, as always. Loved your poem!