What To Do, With Words Unspoken?

what to do, with words unspoken?

drawn out silences and

sentences on the tips of tongues and

lips parted without a sound?

what to do, when voices die?

when phrases wither as lumps in throats and

aspiring monologues escape only as sighs?

words unspoken manifest and fester.

they rip and tear and burn from the inside--

set them free.

if not through the lips than from the fingers,

in uniform, tidy symbols or scrawled script.

set them free.

for words are nothing to be kept shuttered.

set them free.

~ On Poets and Writers and Painters and Love

From The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater

Freedom is in the wind,

     in the restless flow and lack of restraint,

     and in the way gusts brush against skin before slipping past.

Freedom is in the cool desert breeze after nightfall,

     in the sand liberated of the ground in ripples,

     and in the voices of coyotes carried for miles on the air.

Freedom is in the raging winds of a hurricane,

     in the currents whipping around and through all that dares stand in the way,

     hurling hail and rain, swifter than the bat of an eye.

Freedom is in the murmuring gusts twisting through the forest,

     singing arias through willow branches,

     and turning the fluttering of birch leaves into a lasting applause.

Freedom is in the howling of a winter’s blizzard,

     in the phantom whispers writhing between the pines,

     and in the relentless dance of snowflakes amongst the sky.

Freedom was never something for a land to claim,

     unchanging and unmoving as land tends to be.

But rather for the open air and ethereality of the wind,

     never tiring, never settling.

~ On Freedom

1/2

“If you are a sunset, my love, then I am the silent, cloud- blanketed night that comes after. Darkness always chases after light, but neither light nor dark are inherently good or evil, despite the stigma. Nights are for the insomniacs and the dreamers and the broken and the lost. We find comfort in silence and the company of few. Night is full of galaxies and stars and longing. How can it ever be considered evil?”

~ On Poets and Writers and Painters and Love

(Found written on a calculator, part two)

“once upon a time there was a girl who loved the stars.

she wished for wings so she could try to reach them.

little did she remember, she had wings, left over from the old life she didn’t want to leave.

just,

her once beautiful wings were now so broken and bent and clipped that she would never be able to fly again

perhaps she did not wish for wings, then, so she could fly to the stars.

maybe she just wished for her faded memories to return, so she could remember the wings she had.

then, perhaps, she could overcome and heal and teach herself how to fly for the stars once more.”

“Perhaps some people are simply fated to wander alone, too far from the stars, until they simply disappear.”

~ Contemplations