When the Words Stop Flowing

The end will come one day for me and for all writers. It will indicate that something has changed. And in the minds of those faithful readers, the world over life will never be the same without that nightly journey to the stars. Don’t bother writing your own eulogy. The fans will fill the void left by your hopeless relationship with other life… nothing but words arranged nicely said the vicar as he poured over holy water. Take these words and give them to a mind to absorb, feel and be blessed by. Nothing but spaces on a page engraved and leaving black sculptures that stand alone and with neighbours in solidarity of the story and the author who imagined them. When the words stop flowing I will take my book up to the mountain top and dissolve it at the source and my tears will mark my cheeks and my photo will be for the words everywhere regardless of origin, race, creed, socio-economic bracket, health, age, beauty. There is not void that cannot be entertained by a reading. There is no gap wide enough between memories where words cannot exist leapfrogging all the way into the present where they play and jumble in a merry forceful happy way. Take your void and bugger off from here. Go into a cave where you will see words dripping through the cracks into reality every morning. Do not come back until you can recite one of them. Do not think it too late my friend because it isn’t. Take these eyes and thoughts sounds and ingest them like a meal. you need never feel hungry again.Take it to the market and shout them loud. Take them in whispers to the lillypad pond. Take them anywhere, everywhere and never ever leave them at home.


Published by Andrew Mark Watkins

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