http://slow.writerscafe.org/SoulInVermillion The original writings of author S.V en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775974885 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Turning sorrow into wordsWhy? What for?To lose that demand, The demand of the black ceiling skyWhen the lights have been turned offAnd I just want to feel for the sake of feelingTo not wander through bitterThousand-parallel strains of the same storyIn loops and intelligent phrasing.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SoulInVermillion/1473071/ A creative block - The suffocating tension of wanting to do, create, but not being able to. It makes one feel like they might as well liquify and turn into a pool of water, meaningless and still. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SoulInVermillion/1384712/ In a worn corner of the city,Like the fringes of a book I have studied and thought I knew well,I climb upwards, crossing dark projections and sharp, rusty edgesIn a subdued, half-forgotten green light, while a street awaythe crowds gather to cross the well-treaded pavement,between the well-understoo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SoulInVermillion/1338785/ For a moment, the sun peaks over the rooftops,setting the droplets of the rain spatter on the window surface, behind which my cold face looks out, afire. They glow like midday stars.Later, when I will walk away,they will have left burned, black holes, as a filter over my eyes. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SoulInVermillion/1338784/ What does someone facing capital punishment feel, see, think right before they go? Does life offer a conclusion, is one really needed? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SoulInVermillion/1338781/ The rickety steps, pass underneath,in a struggling rotation uphill,over rails and nails unevenly sticking out of the rockfrost.The sun overhead, distant as if swaying in an unachievablecapsule, whose warmth will not trickle down.This is how cold it is. The nipping cold of win.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SoulInVermillion/1280764/ Heaving in the salt on the airThe lungs fill, pushing the body outward, hanging over the beach.Three drops fall into the sandWhich now twists and spins below, in the wind.Ahead, The sea folds over the coast, almost reaching the feet, now hanging over the black rock. A t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SoulInVermillion/1262420/ Hair getting caught in the sheets, a flow up-current to cover the mouth, a cheek and maybe the right eye to feel that much safer in bed. Is there any other way to more accurately understand the shape of the formthan in its crease against your face? You might open your mouth .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SoulInVermillion/1262419/ Stumbling through the threads and paths,In striations, running over the wooden expanse,Lit by scattered lights, piercing the twilit air, Whose thick, calming breath runs in between the thickbranches Stretching over stone, faces and figures crouchingoverA name in every corner .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SoulInVermillion/1262418/ Feather black,curled, flexed hairs grabbing at the empty light andDust, what image would you like to see tonight? What difference will it make to The sour, sweet, bitter and liquid scenery which will flow and flow indifferent.The spectacles with which you must see the Black .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SoulInVermillion/1239722/ The yellow grass lay flat for a second in the blow ofsouth wind. The old woman felt the heat of her neck under the shirt-collartrail away from her body, as her shirt pressed against her already aching back,and her clothes filled up and rustled with the air, which ran up the hillside toget ca.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SoulInVermillion/1239405/