Keeping a promise made, not to write unless it’s something worth writing about and my writing is worthwhile.
Right now, if I write it would be an essay of diatribe, poetry could not live long within my words. If I speak, it would come out in a howl.
This too, shall pass.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
begin with a low and rumbling groan, and allow it to fill your belly with the echoes of everything that haunts you … perhaps then, the howl will escape and bring relief
If nothing else, you’ll hear the sound and know you are alive
yes, this too shall pass
Excellent advice, thank you! I went into my little frameshop, turned up Waylon and Willie to their wailin’ best, screamed out a nice, long, satisfying “Arrrgh!” and felt a helluva lot better.