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The Hand Remembers

The weight of earth piled on
I lay under this barrow, mine
Trapped beneath the gravity
Created by my mind

So I picked up my pen
I let the words to pages flow
Guiding me to inner light
A former me I’ve longed to know

So I loved my paint and brush
Kissed canvases at early dawn
Invoking peace and deep insights
A former me is now reborn

So I cradled my guitar
The world around my heart did sing
Thinking of the timeless notes
Astounded by the joy they bring

My being, burdened with the weight
Fixed me firmly down, but yet
Hasten to the heart’s desire
The hand recalls what the mind forgets

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How does this theme appeal to you?
Last few words: 
Getting back into writing and visual arts has been rejuvenating and therapeutic
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

it is obvious that writing is a true passion of yours, the way your mind caresses every word and line...

*hugs, Cat

*
When someone reads your work
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Hi, Tim,
I agree with Cat - it is obvious that writing and creating are your passions, and it's so exciting to witness and be a part of it all!
L

your poem flowed like
Rhine

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