adventures in dysthymia

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

On the Page, a poem

On the Page

I am not the words on the page
any more than I am that old picture
of me. After all, we are made
anew every seven years, right?

All those words, yes, they were written
by someone else. Sometimes, that once me
hands me one and whispers,
You can do this a bit better —

go ahead, but sign my name to it.
I've no problem collaborating with every me
that ever was and maybe some
to come. We'll all sign the same name.

Stephen Brooke ©2015

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