Poetry

      Words tumble inside my head, each fighting for a chance to be used.  Inspiration flashes and a phrase comes together, eager to be written.  But still, I struggle.  In my heart I know what should be written, but my mind can't grasp the message.  I need to relax.  Connect.  Sitting back, I close my eyes and let the words come.  At first, confusion prevails.  But gradually, softly, my heart whispers a thought my mind can finally understand.  From it sprouts a rhyme, which blossoms into a complete message.  Suddenly the reservoir is broken.  Words and rhymes flow freely, washing over my consciousness and spilling onto the page.  My pencil makes the last mark and I read over it all once more.  Almost perfect.  A few minor edits, and it's finished.  My heart has spoken, and it is beautiful.

Magic

      It was a night full of magic.  The kind that whispers unknown words in your mind and draws icy fingers down your spine.  The stars stared coldly down at the earth wrapped in silver light.  Shadows bent with the passing mists, and all around was a murmuring of distant and otherworldly things.  Before the last light had faded, every back felt the chill.  Every child heard the whisper, and every man and woman locked their doors against the darkness.  None dared turn out the light, for all were wary of the night.
      Except for me.  My soul yearned for the magic.  It filled me with a thrill that I could not resist.  I was meant for the night.  It called to me in the dancing shadows and swaying moonlight; calling me.  Ever calling.
      And I was powerless to refuse.