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Literature Text
“Did you write this about me?”
I folded my hands and looked out of the window
Black gray trees speed by in a blur
“Did you? Am I here in these words?”
It isn’t that I don’t want to answer
It is that I cannot
“It is a beautiful poem”
You may call it these things
But I am just a channel…an outlet…a something
“This line here is describing me perfectly”
Yes, we are kindred spirits
Fellow travelers and we are alike
“But…why do you say this…here…?”
Because words are seeds
And I cannot control how or if or where they will grow
I am the words in the poem
I am the poem in the words
And that is all ye need to know
I folded my hands and looked out of the window
Black gray trees speed by in a blur
“Did you? Am I here in these words?”
It isn’t that I don’t want to answer
It is that I cannot
“It is a beautiful poem”
You may call it these things
But I am just a channel…an outlet…a something
“This line here is describing me perfectly”
Yes, we are kindred spirits
Fellow travelers and we are alike
“But…why do you say this…here…?”
Because words are seeds
And I cannot control how or if or where they will grow
I am the words in the poem
I am the poem in the words
And that is all ye need to know
Matthew 13:1-9, John 1:1-5, John 8:58, “Ode on a Grecian Urn” John Keats
© 2015 - 2024 Zaphod-Beeblebrox58
Comments2
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Like fine wine, your words too, have aged beautifully.
"I am the words in the poem
I am the poem in the words."
Flawless.
Thought of you, so figured I'd stop by to say hi !
"I am the words in the poem
I am the poem in the words."
Flawless.
Thought of you, so figured I'd stop by to say hi !