PROSE – RANT
Why are the words written for ourselves so much better than those we write for others? They seem to possess the beauty of the depth of the blackest night. They are so sweet, so tangy. Their taste lingers in our mouths. Our thoughts race, taking us to some unchartered place. A mythical realm exists only in our minds, hearts, and souls. The surge is so forceful. We hear the thunderous pop from our clenched fingers. Yet there is tenderness as gentle as a whisper riding along the mist of the dragon’s breath. Amidst contentment and exhaling, we quiver.
Perhaps we are afraid of what we say. We may fear what we might reveal. We are so eager to record the moments of others, stealing them, penning them out like some silent rogue. It is as if we forget; our words make the difference. Our verse, prose, and sentences make the mundane remarkable. No matter how much one reads, no matter how much one studies. Experience remains our best teacher. Unfortunately, though, it may very well be the cruelest. I gave the lessons after the exam. Our courage, fortitude, and willingness to push ourselves to the edge weigh our success.
Mangus Khan 