I HAVE BECOME THE STORY TELLER

Let me tell you a story, or you can read my words of glory. We all need to find that one damn thing others can not bring. We all have hearts and souls, a story being written, and a life to be told, something that can not be bought or sold. We are all born young but do not need to die old.

Let me introduce myself as my whiskey slowly kisses my lips. I have always been a man of few words. Not until now did I care to be heard. I have walked through hell's flames, holding my head up high and shaking Lucifer's gates. The angels kept on calling my name. I followed their voices and came out with my wings charred in black.

Eyes now are falling all around, waiting for me to make the slightest of sounds hanging on my every word waiting for me to tell them my stories of life after death and death after life and what I saw in hell because I never tell tales of heaven but only the colors of it which I saw flow when it was not my time to go.

What is this new love affair with these words I speak and write? I am a contemporary poet, a different type of spinning storyteller.

My pen is my paintbrush, and I am still waiting to paint my masterpiece with my words which are my pallet of colors waiting to be abstract art. I am a storyteller spreading my thoughts for all to hear. Some will shake their heads over the sentences that were said. Others may say oh my God, I felt that.