Week 6; A Poem a Day


It’s your turn to listen
I too have stories to tell
Stories I’ve heard
Stories I’ve been gifted
For some reason, though
I strain to speak them
It seems my lungs
Become so enamored
With the sweet air
They’re reluctant to release
The holy breath
To return the gift
There the stories would remain
Degrading into useless gas
If not for patient ears
And forgiving, searching eyes
Now, listen
The rhythm of things
Is steadily changing
The world isn’t going faster
Only our minds are quickening
The rest is slowing down
It always has been
I can’t know
If it will ever slow to a stop
But my rib cage tells me
There will always be
Something to inhale
And exhale
And release
Listen, now
The stories I tell
Are not mine



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