Dear Writers, Keep the Faith

“Faith is a knowledge within…”

 
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Faith is a knowledge within the heart, beyond the reach of proof. — Khalil Gibran

We are left here alone to create, to edit, to choose the choices our characters decide to take. Someone has to trust in us. Someone has to believe we are going to get somewhere with this. So we, us writers, must do the believing. We must have faith in ourselves and our work even when no one else can see the value. Even when we have nothing to prove, we are at our best when we believe and have faith in ourselves.

 

 

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Greatest Place On Earth

Welcome to the greatest place on earth

where dreams make you come alive

as they twinkle right before your eyes

welcome to the place where anything is possible

the secrets here

rarely spoken out loud

kisses are exchanged

promises are made

and Judas is welcomed

cuz he’s in everyone

but

here’s the catch,

as above so below

Just kidding that’s no catch

Come on! Let’s have fun.

-Saschia Johnson

Escape

I did it again

I thought about sleep more than my writing

If life could be full of sleep and cupcakes oh what a life it would be

Of course in this life my body couldn’t handle it

But maybe somewhere out there people survive on sleep and cupcakes

Maybe they keep a batch next to their bed

And they never get fat

And they aren’t bed ridden

They just like to sleep and every sleep is satisfying

I’d call it “Napsand Cupcakeica”

It’ll be great.

❤ Saschia

Stitched Together

From time to time I think of you

From minute to minute you cross my mind

From hour to hour I’m lost in our fantasies

If I stopped I might lose you

So I leave myself little reminders

Moons and doors

and stars as big as your eyes

The truth is I don’t need reminders

But they bring me closer to you

-Sasch

Threshold

I crossed the threshold.

It took some time.

I paced the door

looked in the key hole

I even tested the handle

then finally, I crossed the threshold

only to find another hall

full of a hundred more wonky doors

This is a nice hall

I hall worth resting in

I’ll test some more doors tomorrow

 

-Sasch

Seasons of solitude Or Seasons of hell

Little purple person

Who are you when you’re

not looking,

when that sweat is dripping

from your brow

When your feet are up

on the couch.

Can you define yourself?

Not your hobbies

or your top responsibilities,

but who you are,

those spaces,

 between your out-right 

maddening choices?

“I’m a little purple person,” it whispered in my ear. “I run and frolick and think of the many ways I can return to you. It’s just a matter of getting to you.” It takes ten huge steps away from me, but since it’s so small it doesn’t get more then 3 inches from my face. It sits, crosses it’s legs, and faces me. “In between the spaces is space, my dear poet, it’s space to be filled with memories and love and if you even feel the need, hate.” The little purple person then lays down staring at my popcorn ceiling, and places two arms behind his head. “And if you must know, my dear poet, the space between my maddening choices is balance. Where the imagination runs wild because the madness isn’t present, but it was and it will be. Some call it peace, but I believe, my dear poet,” he faces me now, “it’s best left temporary. Because to grow we must change.” He goes silent and slowly closes his eyes. I study this tiny person. He must be no bigger than my thumb. I roll over and look at my popcorn ceiling. My eyes slowly close. That could be true, it could be true. 

 

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