All I Have Is My Words

They say; a word is just a word, but I think writers know better. To a writer letters and words are a gift given to us, so that we can make sense of the senseless. With them we are able to create great stories; stories of love, hate, desire, fear, life and of so much more. If a word is just a word, how come they are so important to us? How come they do hurt us? How come they do sooth us? How come they do make somewhat of a difference? With the following collection of poems I hope that you too, dear reader will question the saying; a word is just a word, for it is not just a word is it?

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13. The Finest Rose

I found myself so close,

When upon the finest rose,

Rain fell in May.

Its drops let me astray.

 

The flower spoke to me;

Oh, please do set me free.

I tried to bend and break,

Then it began to ache.

 

The more and more I tore,

I bound it to its core,

It wept and cried.

This year it had died.

 

Oh, please undo the day,

When rain fell in May.

 

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