last week
she reached out
brushing my cheek
with her soft steady touch
her whispers filled the air
gentle
persistent
like a secret only i could hear
i stood still
held by her embrace
and in that silence
i knew
i was falling
not for her
but with her
into the rhythm of the world
as it trembled
beneath her caress
i hear it now.
not a whisper
nor a shout
i hear it now.
the future
a call
distant
melancholy?
i can’t help
but wonder
how much am I leaving behind?
i hear it now.
Once there was a man
Who could
Do
It
All.
A man of many arts
The stage
The desk
The microphone
note: this is not targeted at anyone, it’s just my opinion :)
Writing is my pulse,
my breath,
my way of being.
They don’t own my words,
my thoughts,
my voice.
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