A friend of mine told me today, that we need to be able to be in touch with ourselves to write. The brilliant thought of being in company with your thoughts, sitting quietly in a chair mellowed by the dim lights of the room that surrounds us and in that inkling we find inspiration. And it is often the realizations that come from and through others that must inspire you to tell stories, the very reason I even began to write. So I write to the Stories we tell, about journeys,and about quiet corners of the room, about being in the company of many and often in the company of your thoughts, of being true to yourself and hoping that it percolates down to those around you. No matter what stories we tell to the world, I am glad we get to make them important, and to that thought I write, I share tonight.
Stories we tell
We often read the fairy tales,with pictures and drawings and dog eared pages in time,
We are drawn that which can hold imagination, and can yet be found in a simple rhyme
We are story tellers of the night, we are fighters of the day we write about life as it comes to us,
We are born out of fiction at times, and it is the truth that we find the hardest to trust
We are found in lost relationships, we are found in stories that we could not find,
Sometimes we are just too late at the scene, we are the glass that lay unfilled till even time unwinds
We are stories we tell to each other, we are inspirations in locked rooms,
We are simplicity that is carried on behind the tales we tell, but for "what"? and for "whom"?
Stories we tell are often found, like the last pages filled with scribbles of the day,
Like word lists, and doodles and paintings by my side , the ones I hear from you someway,
We are in phone calls we missed, in the times we returned a few,
Stories that have been told over and over again, and yet very often they are written to you
Stories we often tell, are the unwritten ones my friend,
The ones that start with preface and the ones that are written with no end,
We are but bound in a leather jacket, we are often unbound,
I have reasons to believe we are waiting to be read, we are hoping to be found.
Stories we tell
We often read the fairy tales,with pictures and drawings and dog eared pages in time,
We are drawn that which can hold imagination, and can yet be found in a simple rhyme
We are story tellers of the night, we are fighters of the day we write about life as it comes to us,
We are born out of fiction at times, and it is the truth that we find the hardest to trust
We are found in lost relationships, we are found in stories that we could not find,
Sometimes we are just too late at the scene, we are the glass that lay unfilled till even time unwinds
We are stories we tell to each other, we are inspirations in locked rooms,
We are simplicity that is carried on behind the tales we tell, but for "what"? and for "whom"?
Stories we tell are often found, like the last pages filled with scribbles of the day,
Like word lists, and doodles and paintings by my side , the ones I hear from you someway,
We are in phone calls we missed, in the times we returned a few,
Stories that have been told over and over again, and yet very often they are written to you
Stories we often tell, are the unwritten ones my friend,
The ones that start with preface and the ones that are written with no end,
We are but bound in a leather jacket, we are often unbound,
I have reasons to believe we are waiting to be read, we are hoping to be found.
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