Bearing Witness
Pen on paper,
words falling like tears,
salt waters that erode
the hardest of stones.
This man bears witness
to thought, word, and deed.
He’s the outsider who sees
the interior world
and drags forth its spirit
for others to see,
not painted in paint,
not sculpted in stone,
not a breeze through
bound river reeds,
just words on the page
lined up in thin lines
to flower and flourish
like an army that conquers
the world of the soul,
and leaves fresh footprints
on eternal snow.
I’ll be your witness. Nice!
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Thank you. It is a raw poem, not yet revised. I’ll probably work it some more.
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Love this one!
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Thank you. A raw poem …done quickly and not yet reworked.
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