I Heard Myself

I heard myself,
Through passing prose of life,
In random echoes unending,
World’s single rhyme,
Each pause in time.
I heard myself,
Matching morning’s croon,
In silent noon,
Tuning strings of Brooks,
Counting steps that took,
A different turn.

I remember, the warmth of your hand
The feel of your fingers, like embers,
That winter night,
When you held me first,
Like marionette,
Strings leashed to your lashes,
As you undid me, and unearthed;
Piece by piece,
Till the fire awoke,
Behind my eyes, beneath my skin, beyond my dreams.
But you weren’t triumphant,
Nor red, with pride,
But as me, still,
As stone, as breath,
As world, as death.
And how we traveled, flew past,
Against wind, upon seas,
Within ships, without mast.

There be life, hidden beyond every edge,
And nook and crevice,
And love, in all broken things,
Dying with the wind.
There be laughter,
There be joy,
There be paintings,
There be ploy,
Tracing lives, through stone, wood, walls and steel.

The world may fall,
And the mask of man,
Fold into dust,
But we shall remain,
Here forever,
Reciting, the same symphony,
Through the crowning seas,
The tricks of trees,
And ebony stones,
And ivory bones.

Author: TheHumanAnvil

I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you.

4 thoughts on “I Heard Myself”

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