Magma
The molten material moving silently under the Earth’s crust with ease, stead and direction, collecting in chambers before finally reaching the surface through cracks and emerging as hot, thick lava.
I’d like to think of my words as magma.
Words and vocabulary — they rarely spill from my lips, my fingers, my head. But I have always had a penchant for beautiful words, the kind with letters seemingly force-fitted together to form something… presentable. Like “cynosure”, “hiraeth”, “epoch” and "tacenda"! And I have always admired people who could mould their emotions into words and package them into prose or short stanzas of beauty called poetry.
Writing does not come easily to me.
Occasionally and more often these days, however, my words are more like lava. They are leaking through cracks and they are moving rapidly. My thoughts and feelings are enveloped in words and my words are finding their place, like tonight.
Perhaps I will write again.
