Typewriter

March 31, 2012
Clicking and clacking the keyboard along,
the fiery finger will flutter a song,
the paper as crisp,
and the honey runs sweet.
No rasping or lisp,
from my head to my feet.

I hear a ringing, my clinging to you,
my gateway, my passage, from earth unto moon
the body is willing,
but knowledge is weak,
My beginnings beginning,
My end still to seek.

The binding is fragile, still merely a thought
The pages aren’t tangible, sentences taught.
My landscapes like mercury
flow through my mind
Wait one year and you’ll see
my past is behind.

The feeling will grow, and my feeling is great.
I will fall into place as I follow my fate.
and with glory you’ll find
I’ll rise up from the rest.
But you must first just be kind,
for that’s the first test.





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