Scattered moments and images
Do not make for story
And yet this is our frame
Our lives are stories
So perfectly crafted
With plot holes and bias
Unreliable narrators haunt
The fly on the wall
There are no stories
Just fragments broken
And scattered through years
Some provoke tears
Shapes floating foggy in
Our internal mists are
A good place to stick truth
And stories
Writing is a labour and a bore
I'm not sure how to imagine
The empty blankness between moments
Those moments of un profound quiet reflection that remind me
What I am and what I am not
I am an animal flesh bound
Determined to be something
Inspiring I dream up things
No one has ever touched or seen
I latch onto the mists of emotions
I make it flesh
Because i think
We all still want to believe
In stories.
A collection of poems and musings by a rookie poet and constant dreamer - J.O.S.H
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