By Charles Robert Lindholm
I thought that when the hurting stopped
my heart would just stop sending
words to put on paper
and I’d have to stop pretending
to have a way with words,
painting, blending, weaving
I thought it was an accident
and that I’d be caught deceiving
but like the running water
slowly cuts through stone
this stream of words keeps flowing
a gift for me to own
a gift from
my heart
to
me
Copyright © 2017 Charles Robert Lindholm – All Rights Reserved
The Reluctant Poet 
With deception can come a muse of insight that infuses with finding a natural stream of personal creation, including a painted word.
I like your poem. Thank you.
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Thank you so much for your kind comment and view. Love the thought about a painted word! I usually think of the words doing the painting but liked your thought! Certain words do carry their own painting. Great insight!
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