I DID NOT CHOOSE THE WORDS,BUT THE WORDS CHOSE ME

I have come

undone

while words

loom about me

and dance upon the page.

The sages speak…

you have not said enough,

you have not sung your hymn

with familiar tune,

and your syntax belies

the depths of poetic countenance.

Why fail ye – poet?

What do you bother

to tread this path?

We can tell ye how to speak,

which rhythmic tone to lilt your lines,

and how to make your daily speech

much more complex.

Is it not enough

that I breathe in air?

That I slowly linger

as I exhale?

That I thoroughly enjoy

all the moments,

the pauses,

and the stillness

in between?

Poetry

is like the silent song

that is whispered

across your soul

It begs for you

to learn the words,

speak their cadence,

and whisper in honest echo

“I recognize the beauty that you speak”

for now, I speak them too.

(reblog)

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