With my mouth, I fill the air with words. But do they matter?
I can’t be silent – I must speak, or sing. (But I prefer the latter.)
The Sky will blacken with text, the scribbling of
Page on page, ’till books are filled,
The air will be my slate.
My voice will fill the sky with song.
Yet even that cannot my appetite satiate.
I hunger to Create.
My mind will spill over, so let me fill yours.
Let me feast you with music, throw open your doors,
That others might enter, and be filled as well
With song, rhythm, poem –
I’ve a story to tell.
Until the next…