TITLE: Word-EDITED By 02/24/09 |
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Anyway! Enjoy and thanks a lot for everyone's input. The purpose of this supposed to question our significance of life (as writers or just as humans in general) when the creation about us is so wonderful, when all we really have is just simple words. If you've already critiqued this, then don't comment, but it would mean a lot to me if you at least skimmed over it. :) thanks everyone!
I’m not the butterfly.
I cannot dance.
I cannot fly.
I’m not the dove.
I cannot soar.
I cannot sing.
I’m not the horse.
I cannot jump.
I cannot run.
I’m not the cougar.
I cannot pursue my prey.
I cannot kill.
I’m not the sky.
I cannot move the stillness.
I cannot move the earth.
I’m not the rain.
I cannot make puddles turn to laughter.
I cannot give life to the ground below.
I’m not the earth.
I cannot make the world spin.
I cannot shift the rocks.
I’m not the words.
I cannot utter anything.
For what good is words worth?
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