Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 10
I am not my words,
Nor am I the letters from which they are formed;
I am a beating drum,
A cacophony, a riot keeping pace with mortal time;
Spinning order thriftily,
So as not to cheapen the divinely proclaimed language of the soul.

β€˜Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.’
- T. S. Eliot
annh
Written by
annh  F/Christchurch, New Zealand
(F/Christchurch, New Zealand)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems