Fainting Goat

last week  

she reached out  

brushing my cheek  

with her soft steady touch  

her whispers filled the air  

gentle

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.  

If I have a daughter, I will name her 

Sylvia.

A big name,

A burgeoning hope.

Sylvia.