the uncommon man, is frequently called
common
he is called names, until he doesn’t answer
to them
he is deaf, to the crabs that scream
in boiling water
he isn’t red with anger
he climbs out, because his name
is synonymous with his goal
he has chosen his value
and his value, is in direct proportion to his path
towards salvation
If a man thinks, books are common
he would be correct
Why write one?
For the same reason, that form isn’t function
that a Bible
is more than just stories
If you want to hand somebody
something
don’t give them tired words
I listen to them
to go to sleep at night
there are plenty of those…
No—hand a nobody
power
hand a somebody
salvation
hand hope, to anybody
who reads these words
words matter
because we don’t live without them
we don’t exist
on bread alone
whether it’s a wasted life, or a worthwhile one
depends on the words you tell yourself
If you believe them
it’s
a certain kind of faith
it’s the ghost speaking to you
between possibility
and impossibility
You must answer the call
Don’t hang-up
it’s the conversation you were meant to have
You’ve been waiting your whole life
for the phone to ring.
Relished the flow of this poem!
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Thanks, Roshni! 🙂
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Lovely
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Thanks, Bridgette!!! 🙂
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