“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label small words. Show all posts
Showing posts with label small words. Show all posts
Monday, January 13, 2020
Scripted
Found some handwriting
it took forever to decipher
as my own,
with large open loops
and smooth sweeping strokes
outside the lines,
I read
plain as day, black on white,
set as granite
between these boulders
where I have been pinned
and slowly
squeezed into thinking
I must fit
failing
to recognize
how shallow
my breath had become
how tiny and whispered
my words were,
I take in less and less
of what is essential to live.
I do not recognize the freedom
of thought,
for a moment
things shifted,
weight-
and I saw myself
scratched out.
Image credited by 'Theory and Practice of handwriting' c. 1894 in Public Domain.
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