Who am I

Who am I but the words on the page
the syllable and sentiment painted out in
curves, crescendoing innuendoes and soulful
minded verbs racing or crawling towards
some end, that even I do not see until the
last letter is
written
Yes, who am I but the words on a page
written years before my time, or a time before my
aging mothers
for life and liberty for
love and struggle
for the prick of dreams unfinished and the
languishing joy of a hope well received
I
I ….
I am a the words
and you ears
my canvas.

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One thought on “Who am I”

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