Newbiggin by the Sea Creative Writing Group

It surprised me when I thought of The Art of Words
Here I sit in need of practice in the art of words.
Here must I being with stark blank page.
Entering in to view horizons new and strange.
Knowing not what I might find in this stark land.
A newness far beyond my comprehension.
How might I travel seek the path of the unexpected.
A world I've glimpsed from afar.
A place I've circled fearfully.
Never daring to venture to deeply in.
Yet here I am casting of from the safety of the shore.
Know not how deep the water and the storms ahead.
Are the natives friendly or at war?
Might I come safe home again?
This is no gallery of painted art or sculpture new.
An ever shift, sifting, tide that ebbs and flows cross the white.
So here I sit to write this small misstif slim.
Knowing that a universe of white awaits.
A world of pages left to fill in kind and salutory tones.
My voice to find among the tumbleing words.
Here my lone journey makes it mark for good or ill.
There is no turning back from seeking words.
The words their art unfold within, beyond, around me.
Always flowing free, how ever I seek to capture them upon the page.
That is the reign of pen, ever the art of words, which is no surprise at all.