Post by MIRIAM JACOB on Feb 19, 2008 1:53:20 GMT -5
MY WRITING DESK
I sit at my writing desk,
a brightly polished
mahogany escritoire,
with a huge writing leaf,
folding down to reveal
rows of cubbyholes
and tiny little drawers,
cleverly concealing
a hidden portfolio
of glittering pens,
snow-white paper,
priceless tools to
craft words in wisdom,
to underscore the
royal art of writing.
There is a direct line
from the human brain
to the written word,
as powerful as any
bright God-given light.
When spoken words fail,
written ones keep us alive.
Seated at my writing desk,
I discover the awe-inspiring
power of the written word.
It transforms my life into the
stuff that dreams are made of.
I am in my ivory palace,
weaving tales into being,
crafting pearls into poems,
and dreams into reality.
© MIRIAM JACOB
I sit at my writing desk,
a brightly polished
mahogany escritoire,
with a huge writing leaf,
folding down to reveal
rows of cubbyholes
and tiny little drawers,
cleverly concealing
a hidden portfolio
of glittering pens,
snow-white paper,
priceless tools to
craft words in wisdom,
to underscore the
royal art of writing.
There is a direct line
from the human brain
to the written word,
as powerful as any
bright God-given light.
When spoken words fail,
written ones keep us alive.
Seated at my writing desk,
I discover the awe-inspiring
power of the written word.
It transforms my life into the
stuff that dreams are made of.
I am in my ivory palace,
weaving tales into being,
crafting pearls into poems,
and dreams into reality.
© MIRIAM JACOB