They are not mine,
though they come from my mind,
my hand,
my pen.
They are like the wind,
the water in the ocean,
the stars in the sky.
So they are beheld,
I keep them
only briefly;
a tenth of a second
and then they wait
for you.
These are not my thoughts.
This electro-chemical flash,
this carnival ride
of energy,
inspiration
and emotion.
This passion,
this disappointment,
struggle and failure;
this all only exists in me
as long as lightning
lives in the sky,
and then it is here.
It is on the page.
It is on the screen;
lingering,
lurking,
waiting
for some unsuspecting eyes.
For some fertile mind.
For some soft lips
to speak them,
consume them
assimilate them
and they are alive again.
They are not mine,
no.
No more than the wind,
that rushes in from the East
to kiss my face each morning
is mine.
No more than the ocean,
whose wave crash on the beach
and wash my feet
as I walk in the afternoon
are mine.
No more than all the stars of the sky,
that paint the heavens
and keep me company around my fire
each night
are mine.
No,
I cannot claim them,
only share them
and hope
and pray
that they don’t sit idle
too long.
HG – 2019
