honea byrne

I’m the One That traveleved Through the radio, television, cd, internet to motivate them. I’m the one that spreads words through tongues-Redundant Reputable Respite Retribated Retribution “Obviously, the reality of a narcissist.” I’m the One Entered that broken hearted waiting on the telephone to ring- As it is As it’s always Been BLACK and WHITE: White page looking for Black Letters. I was woken up by hearing your voice at 2 in the morning- They say, “There’s not much that goes on good at that time in the morn (mourn). People dreaming Should be sleeping People scheming Babies conceiving Souls leaving …and yes, some gonna wake up in Eternity- A sentence of sentences in boxes.   And during the short pause she calmly looked into his (my) eyes. Enter(viewer): “I want you to know that you are safe here. To Be Yourself. It must have been very difficult on you to ha...

  A Thought Comes To A Troubled Mind.  Well, When a thought comes to any mind  a  synapses  happens, lights up small looking trees-a new idea or even an old one. Those in "The Anonymous" compare God to electricity.  RE: DON'T YOU HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO THAN PLAY HEAD GAMES  WITH YOURSELF? “Can You Believe that once I considered myself a god? I spoke words that influenced sex; that created life, and Death-People. ‘There’s a Reason God said to Not worship Idols.’ Listened to my words in their Sanctuaries: homes and cars, parties-through the radio, through television, Now the internet. “That’s what I discovered when I opened my Bible.” As he continued, she calmly read his file and deduced what might have influenced him. Maybe I’m an Angel from Heaven Giving people hope through the radio waves and TellMeVision:   A writer submitted his works to The Missouri Review. Had high hopes, like winning the lottery dreaming high hopes; like he’d...

  WHERE DO I GET MY IDEAS from? I get my ideas from changing points of view. When I change points of view, I get different perspectives of why certain things happen to certain people in their life. Having these points of view, I dare implore that one can even travel across space and time; maybe even dimensions. Sometimes, I even go to graveyards and play my guitar.  "You go to graveyards to play guitar” Not only because graveyards are silent. One can reap things that are left behind in a graveyard. Imagines a memory-brought by a familiar sound. And everything gets loud.   The beating of her heart was the bass. The wind carrying the sounds of cicadas, locusts, beetles, the chirping of birds become my treble. She was stuck in a moment while the setting sun’s rays release ravaging fingers that manipulate the shadows on the tombstones. Then those fingers paint orange red, pink to grey. Then illuminate through the street's light and the fool’s glare faded to a pale ...