Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
annh 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.

‘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

— The End —