Thursday, September 12, 2013

Writer's Reinvent Language

I would love to see what the book authors, poets and music makers in Syria are setting free. Writer's fear nothing. Be it a jotting down. A mental expression or conversation. Storyteller's express because they weren't born to keep it in. How many writer's in Syria have been ordered into silence? Trying times multiply the minds ambition to put print to work in the world's eye. Writer's get creative. Making paths visible by developing the guts to cut through everyday language to make up another. Like Irish Limericks. Where are the writing instruments and pads of paper in Syria? You can't text there! It's being read by rule makers turning book authors, poets and music makers into rule breakers. Do the windows of the soul equal the stories being told? Who then is documenting the paragraphs so that other generations can learn from it without passing the fear for living forward? Writer's cannot go without speaking. Hidden. The path. So it be challenged. But human skin cannot hold in. Experience and survival. It has to be flowing freely somewhere. Is it being written then quickly ripped into shreds of nothingness? Put in the frames of homes then covered by photographs of a past that will never return again. Is it wrong to think? A writer's greatest gift is to guarantee a link. Between he. They and all who'll one day gather. To hear of the tale. The struggles versus victory. Starvation dulled by an inner core of motivation that moves the innocent toward beams of security. Writer's don't release to feel championed. Books may sell but it's a story we do tell. A masterpiece like that of a painting hung above a fireplace mantle. A passing thought from yesterday. Led into an area of nonexistent. Without book authors, poets and music makers. The sights we see would only be dreams.

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