Sophie's unique style evokes emotion and conjures up subtle glimpses of life to which most everyone can relate.
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I am not a poet. Yet, the poems come.
Not often, but once and again.
They come from pain. They come from emotion. They come from inside.
No rhyme or reason; they chase and hunt me down.
Or better yet, slip up inside me unexpectedly.
Tempting. Calling. Begging for release. To be owned.
If I am lucky, I steal time to write them down.
I am a writer. And the stories do come.
The words that ache to be said. To be read.
Fiction. Non-fiction. Truth. Fact. Lies. Whatever.
A collection, a rambling of thoughts. Made perfect. Maybe.
Some decades old. Some fresh and new.
Old souls, old poems. Baby fresh, new words and phrases.
My thoughts. My meanderings. My collective poetic wanderings.