Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Is it the number of toys you own and use, gathering mud, blood, or dirt, to figure out your worth. Is it the number of people you have met, share a smile to an intimate encounter, all relationships are life's echo sounder. Is it the number of days and the misspent ways that the grains of sand fell from your hand. Is it the number of experiences, of all that you have absorbed, from head to toe, inside and out with every sense, in those moments of past, present and future tense. Is it the collection, of the cells that make you who, and the places, moments you share with God, you who, He spared.
0
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 2:12 AM UTC
The Collection
Is it the number of toys you own and use, gathering mud, blood, or dirt, to figure out your worth. Is it the number of people you have met, share a smile to an intimate encounter, all relationships are life's echo sounder. Is it the number of days and the misspent ways that the grains of sand fell from your hand. Is it the number of experiences, of all that you have absorbed, from head to toe, inside and out with every sense, in those moments of past, present and future tense. Is it the collection, of the cells that make you who, and the places, moments you share with God, you who, He spared.
Any questions are purely rhetorical and do not require question marks
darrell-wade-elverum
Written by
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 2:12 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem