Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Nothing Gone Unsaid

I wrote a poem yesterday
so I wouldn't have to today,
because tomorrow's always coming
and nothing's here to stay.

Each time I write a poem,
saves a moment that is past:
a promise too long unspoken
that its memory doesn't last,

a gift that wasn't opened,
a whisper never heard,
a tear never fallen,
a secret too long interred.

All these things brought to stay
with words often read,
my gallery of words
so nothing goes unsaid.

Nothing goes unsaid,
as you read them to yourself,
but they slowly become yours,
your religion, your being, your health.

My words are mine own,
but the pictures belong to you.
Give them new life, new homes,
and there's nothing I can do.

There's nothing original
in what you make with mine,
but it brings forth perspective,
a fresh view every time.

The poem I wrote yesterday,
its part is far from done:
it gives me room to write
when tomorrow's -at last- does come.

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