hello dearest Bobby thank you for the Halloween invitation great write ❤️

I will be posting my Halloween poems and end the vampiric story too.

This must be what Leonardo was thinking when he painted Mona Liza

Thanks, Sam. I have no doubt that Da Vinci felt very close to the images he created.

This is really quite wondrous Sam .. a compelling story poem from beginning to end .. I was once an aspiring artist (still am on the quiet) and so I can relate .. Subsequently awarded the dubble 👍👍

Thank you, Neville. I’m glad you relate.

I’m happy other writers are seeing your work. It deserves much more attention than just a few comments. I think I may have read this once before, but the emotion you’ve created is still like new. You know how to set a scene and deliver every time. Excellent story Sam.

Thanks, Tim.

Sam, you know I’ve read enough of your work that I am honest in my comments. So I can say I am so proud of what you have done here. This is quite spare, and all the more lovely because of it. You convey the beauty of the artist’s creation through his eyes rather than his brush, and the love he has lavished her with, not the paint. He might have no talent at all; but that is not what he sees — nor us, because of it. It is very fine, my friend, one of your very best.
FD

Thank you so much. Long before I tried to write stories, I smeared paint around on canvases–nearly always painting women. This story, then, wasn’t hard to write. Don’t know if you ever looked at my photos, but several examples of my artwork are there.

I don’t know how that’s possible. There are many drawings and several paintings there.

I feel this. Know that you are not alone feeling this way. the statement of “I am tired” cut deep. At one point the feeling of it all and feeling that no one gave a damn was so much…let’s just say I would not be here if I did not have someone. We all do not have that “touch stone” person. I do understand.

Absolutely gobsmackingly brilliant,powerful,honest,scary and sad.
When I read this, the only question. I had was why?Why does one keep holding on when there is nothing left to hold on to?
Why,if God exists,would he torture his children?

Why are we even alive?

Take care my friend.The tide can turn quickly and bring you back to shore.🙏

🤗

Tired,, but alive, broken, but the pieces are all there, they fit together, like the way rain brings flowers. Our tears fill the oceans where all life began. And our scars (whether visible or unseen) become the instruments of our music and can be heard in the cosmos. Willow, your poem resonates like violin strings, hauntingly and with grace. Not sure if you see or feel it, but you give us all the strength to continue, to disturb the universe, like pebbles thrown in the pond, creating ripples that go on forever.

I do not know you, Willow, and have only read a few of your poems, but I am happy you are here.

Curt

Powerfully penned, Willow. The armor does get thinner with time I think it’s part of facing mortality. At least that’s part of it anyways. There are layers as I always say, but it’s tiring indeed. Time catches all of us eventually, but our scars lend to wisdom, even those earned by trial and error. That’s what popped in my head anyways. Excellent write my friend, I can relate. Appreciate you.

Damian

You nailed it. Fantastic work. It’s hell to get old.

This is the first piece of yours I have read, but HER suggested you for membership in our new Spoken Word group. I took her at her word, and though I have not heard any audios by you yet, I wanted to take a peek at just some of your words first. If you have audios, I certainly want to hear them, on the strength of the words you have left here, not what someone has told me. This is brilliant work, Willow, tough, strong, gut-wrenching, sad; it touches all the emotions and pulls the reader in. I will read more, and I want to hear what your work SOUNDS like.