This word I write
Is not mine
The dawn of time owns it
The millions that went before me
Shaped it.
This thought that flits
Is not mine,
The first to wonder
Set it alight
Now it blazes
Fed by centuries of flickering
Minds.
I own nothing of
This ocean
The big bang of
Life's birth
The egg of the universe
The million glittering, shattering amoeba
Eve's Adam:
All! Poured the drops
I am but one more!
One more:
A drop, a flame, among
The millions before and after...
This word, this thought, everything
Is mine.
1 comment:
Interesting how the thought process initially begins with the persona trying to establish the fact that 'it' is just one among the millions who came before but towards the end its like a breakinh away and the detachment that follows ...establishing what i see as a independent spirit. well put crisp and to the point makes a lot of sense if u know what i mean *sniggers*
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