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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write. Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground. Kiya's gift. I love it!
The Writing-Practice Journal
#788328 added August 6, 2013 at 4:27pm
Restrictions: None
The Welcome
"The catatonic boy at Ward 16 sits on a chair. Your call, Doc," the memo said.
I entered the ward and knelt in front of him, fingering his neck. Ice-cold.
As if rigor mortis set in, lifeless eyes stared ahead. So strange!
"What's your name?" I asked. He stuck out his tongue.
No, this wasn't catatonia.
Taking his hand, I ordered, "Talk," while noticing reddish scabs on his neck.
Suddenly he leapt, latching on to my neck.
Sharp pain! I felt blood oozing down.
Vile words sliced me like a chainsaw.
"Welcome to the club!"

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