Cracking through timber
I’m brought to honest, unbound by prying eyes.
What does this broken soul whisper?
Words spoken by a thousand hands.
Am I just a rebuilt story
With the pages ripped from a million different books?
Can’t I be any more than that?
Or do my words speak the meanings none before have translated?
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Author:
Rael (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 21st, 2023 09:38
- Comment from author about the poem: Individuality isn't really real, not in the cosmic sense. However, I take joy in knowing that in the thousands of options of things I could love, they all culminated into this being that is me. So while my words may have been written before, and they will certainly be written again, my mark has been left.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 5
Offline)
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