"Bring me my pen," the old man orders his watchful granddaughter as she hands him the black tea. Aromas of honey arise from the cup giving the raspy voice a hint of sweetness. Black unseen monsters lurk in the shadows of the shade pulled room, inspiring the clever brain of a sickened writer. Pen, paper, a phone book for a table ~ And yes the words begin to take form ~ chasing away sickness, sleep, and death.
No comments:
Post a Comment