thoughts on storytelling.

i sigh.
relief is next to me.
black pen twitching
between two loose fingers,
ink begins flowing freely.

she spoke of tragedy
and irony,
and tear-filled words
dripped from her tongue.
beneath a 24 karat sun,
she lost her defenses.
beneath glistening beauty,
her words dripped onto the earth
and filled the blades
with sorrow.

he spoke of dreams
and infatuation.
he let words fill his soul
like water into the mouth
of the desert,
leaving a lake behind.
but dreams turned to dust,
and thoughts turned to dust,
and where a beautiful mind once stood,
preoccupation remained.

they spoke in melodies
and melancholy.
symphonies spread from their lips,
and all the wonders
of grace and art
came through their fingertips.
they were wonderful creatures,
created only to convey
the complicated concept of
the human condition.

i sigh.
another word meets the paper.
but no more. the ink mocks me,
and my inability
to complete a simple story.