Poem

Jul. 19th, 2010 03:09 am
clumsyelf1: (Default)
The pencil in my hand,

The paper beneath it.

As I write,

Words come from nowhere.

I write, but I'm not really writing.

I'm the vessel,

From which the poem comes.

My heart and soul,

The channels.

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clumsyelf1: (Default)
Sarah

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