Saturday, April 26, 2008

ALONG A QUIET RIVER

in my playground I am all by myself
I dance my dance and move my moves
think my thoughts and be my being
nobody knows, nobody sees
save for the one who knows I am here
save for the one who sees from afar
save for the one who will not touch
he lets me be for he sees me
he lets me be
what I will be
or will to be
here in my playground I am all alone
unshackled to who I am
or what I am
or have to be
I am not pinned down by margins
or borders
or zones
there is but one essence of being
it has no form
so you think you see me
but then... how?
for I have not let you

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for words
are all I have...
no big bucks,
no mansions,
no pillars of gold
come the day when I'm too tired and too old
I'd like you to say of me, "she wrote".

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My Life
My Short Stories
The Junkyard