Graced with Grace

Its hard to say Simple things sometimes. I can't seem to find The word that fits my thought.   And so I stumble and stutter And I pause And I try this word and that But some how Its still not my thought.   Its hard to speak sometimes Because my words Are not my thoughts And my thoughts don't have words.   And I wonder Will you ever Hear my thoughts Behind the words...   Because that is what I really meant to say In all that jumble.  

  The summer is quickly coming to an end. Surprisingly I am actually more excited than nervous or panicked. Often I find the close of a summer somewhat scary for me. I don’t usually look forward to starting up school again. It means moving again, meeting new freshmen and making new friends, and more papers to write before long and all these things tend to sometimes freak me out. Then winter comes and I’ve never been a fan of winter. But this year I am kind of excited. Not exactly sure why. Maybe it’s the fact that I have a friend getting married at the end of this school year and it gives me something to look forward to at the end. Or maybe it’s the fact I can call myself a senior this year. Or maybe it’s simply because I am starting off part-time instead of full time and so I am not scared to death that I will fail every single one of my classes and have no life at all. Maybe simply knowing that my homework load will be doable makes me eager or at least ready to start a...

There comes a time When words can’t write it. You thought it and felt it, But words couldn’t write it.   There comes a time when The language of the heart, Speaks a different language Then the human tongue.   There comes a time when, The heart cries, But the eyes can’t produce tears. Or there is joy, That can’t be expressed with a smile.   There is an expression Of the heart and soul That sings a different song, Dances a different dance, Writes a different language, That only the heart can understand.   There comes a time, When the writer’s pen is silenced, When words cease to flow, When the writer could not write it.   There comes a time, When the writer couldn’t write Because the heart spoke A different tongue, And the writer couldn’t translate.   So, dear reader, when you look   Upon a blank page,   Understand that the heart was spe...