#64 – Poet

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Curtis Mac Newton

Joel closed his eyes and took a breath, his hands rising and reaching out into the sun-dappled air.  His chin rose as he felt the words spring from his chest and force themselves from his lips.

Worlds swirled in his imagination.  Wild realities and lost loves poured from his soul, forming into crude reality with each flick of his tongue.  His heart ached at each new phrase, tears fell as he knitted verse to verse.

A roll of distant thunder greeted the finale.  It was perfect.

The Eight year old boy watching him coughed.

“Mister,…. why didn’t it Rhyme?”

(c) Tim Austin 2016. Promo image by Curtis Mac Newton via Unsplash.

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