There are those that are blessed with the gift
, those with the gift of art
, and those with the gift of words
. Not everyone has these gifts. My friend, Nick, had the gift of words. He always knew the right thing to say at the right time. He could paint a picture with words
I was struck with how little respect some have when something is entered into the database that was not written by the person entering it. For myself, I long to be able to craft a parable as eloquently as Nick did. Deep thought has this gift as well, though I think he would deny it. I can see it. I don't see myself as having this gift. I do see myself as having the gift to recognize something as having creative value. I can see the picture painted with words. I can hear the melody in a poem. I can feel the emotions of the writer. I can not express myself as well as I would like. But, I recognize in other works what I want to say. This is what I share, because I feel it has value. It means something to me. You may not care, but I care. I would not be here if I did not care. When someone shares lyrics or a poem, it is because something was said, sung, or written that has touched the person. He has found something that expresses that which he can not express for himself. Even now, I'm tripping over my tongue! ARGH!
A friend of mine yesterday could not find the words to help me out of a deep sadness. She grappled with herself looking for the right words. Instead, she went searching for something that expressed her feelings. She took the time to find something because she cared. I share with you some of what she said...
difficulty expressing myself in words.i wish i was like snicky and
could give you the right words to turn you around, but i can't. . and that's
what saddens me more than anything, that i don't know how to help you. and before i go on and make this worse, i found a
poem that puts into words for me what i can't.
by Walter Poe
In the storm
Stands the white rose
of destruction abound her
Yet tall is the white rose
strong in the face
Of the sensed doom around her
And she does not bow down
Pure is the white rose
In the compost earth
growing eternal strength
in the nights that so hurt
I see not the white rose
She is so far away
But I long to protect her
But only the words can I say
So I send her my words
And my poets heart
To help her when
there is hope to see her through
Be Strong little flower
Your heart will guide true
And as long as you want
I will always talk to you
This meant a great deal to me. She found a way to express what she wanted to say even though the words were not her own. The words had meaning for both of us.
What I am trying to say is..... please don't judge a person harshly for sharing someone else's work. There must be something there that the person felt worth sharing with the rest of you. Not all of us are blessed with wit and creativity. Not all of us are smooth with our tongue. Some of us have the gift of recognition.