since we learned to speak, we have only
spat out the words before us
repeating remarks we hear and see
with impotent intonation;
the pretense to make it our own
we are watery reflections
longing to move freely, by ourselves;
to feel the wind whip wildly 'round
to scrape our knees on uneven ground
but we lie on the surface,
repetition rippling through our shallow skin
perhaps, one day, we shall learn
to stand
and to create