Envisage      by Nancy J. Lang

The writing is strong and clear. Letters formed to perfection ,
Possibly by the hand of a great person, maybe the most talented person in the world . . .
The script of a gifted artist or musician.
Some lines are slightly thicker than others giving depth to each stroke,
The words curve upward and back down as fluid as a line of musical genius
And as graceful as a fine dancer with years and years of discipline and control.
Maybe an artist with (intuition and perception) a trained eye for color and detail,
Someone possessing a soul capable of feelings void in most . . . emotions
That soar with the birds in flight and a deep sadness shared by a lone mourning dove,
Cooing over and over as night falls, drawing her thick blanket across the sky.
The letters are straight and even yet filled with intrigue . . . perhaps
The pen of a gifted writer whose mind can conjure up a story by closing their eyes
Or sitting alone in a crowd and listening.
The flimsy metal door closes silently behind me. The smooth shiny surface,
(With traces of graffiti lingering beneath the freshly painted surface)
The vulgar invitations and accusations crudely scribbled in haste
(Ringing these guileless words) Are history.
The ink is basic black, the words simple, the person behind them a mystery.
I turn and read them once again, aloud.
Who Am I

main / photos / jokes / stories / health / books / opinion / submissions / links / awards / e-mail to editor