Jordan Terry poem: It's a Beginning (son of  Composer-Songwriter-Lyricist

Jordan Terry poem: It's a Beginning (son of  Composer-Songwriter-Lyricist  MICK TERRY)
Silent Tree Music 

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Copyright 2004   JORDAN TERRY
( son of Mick Terry )

beginnings ... why, yes, beginnings are the outermost tentacles of a story's grasp, and to properly tell a story,
it helps to start with something interesting ... something to grab attention, "hook, line and sinker."
however, this is no "hook;" (it's the "sinker.")
for you see, on the first night of every night, life just happened to come to be.
it was not a magical ocurrence publicized for many to see.
it was more of the event where magic could secretly and simply be.
it was not known to itself of a thing to be ... it was more of a thing to do and did to be.
as the darkness crept over the land each night, vision was once again given the sight to see, the secrets and treasures of all things small, very little, tiny or hard to see ...
oh, no, but not to the whee (that's with a double "e" and an "h" preceding the first "e").
the whee, the little people, have always existed, rather never ceased to be.
ceasingly persistent creatures these whee, but ever more consistent to capture your treasures, you see?
"We," (uppercase double "u" lower case "e") on the other hand, tend to never really grasp their fullest existence or purpose within we.
however, we find their affliction with great conviction at the disappearing existence of small things that were supposed to be ...
right over here, or right over there, somewhere supposedly easy to find or see.
(the point is near, where i begin to make it clear that the life of the rhyme in this little line has run out of time, right now ... met its end. fini!)

... but as i said, the story is a "sinker," not a hook. nor was anything physical misplaced by one of the whee, or ... on rather ... the other hand, was a misplaced whee.

for ever as long as time has been, the whee were the ones that found your smallest objects when you least expected it.
they would have then collected it, and magically disappeared with it. to where with it, we do not know. somesay, we dare not know, but today, this whee did not know.
nor was there a pondering or perplexing over its various existences.
the whee did not know its thing to be, and yet it was.
here it sat, as it opened its eyes, coming to life the same way every night as the sun sets beyond the brink.
well, it was almost the same.
for today, it was like the first day.

Copyright 2004  JORDAN TERRY  Silent Tree Music  All rights reserved
[ Reprinted here by permission of the author ]
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