A famous writer talks about editing his work.
Leaving words on the cutting room floor like flotsam.
Trimming the words to tell a better tale
It is an exercise that hurts but is satisfying if done well.
At the same time, there are words stored in Secret
That will never make the light of day,
Nor should they, if you get my drift
These words tell a tale that never needs to be shared.
My bride told me last night I have more words in me
Then she could ever have within herself.
Where do they come from? From an overly active mind?
Or a quest for answers that require writing to capture the thought.
I’m not sure. I only know that somewhere in my mind
Words rest in Secret, having learned the result of their life.
They will never make it to the light of day or rest on the pages of a book.
Why? They will do no one any earthly good.
Words in Secret have a life of their own.
They shade experiences with stories that can easily be shared
But they have a life of their own that will never be told
In my mind, I’ve learned to keep them quietly hidden away.
It’s not that they are bad words, telling horrible secrets
But in and of themselves, they do no one any earthly good.
In every book I read, a wondering comes through,
Did the author leave something out?
Words in Secret, once the key is locked and thrown away,
Eventually, wither to dust, swept, collected, and tossed.
Were they once valued as treasures? I’m not sure.
I only know that when we die, these words are gone forevermore.
You are snared by the words of your mouth;
You are taken by the words of your mouth.
(Proverbs 6:2 NKJV)