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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
...That is me.

Submitted: January 29, 2016

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Submitted: January 29, 2016



I am a song—
not the one that everyone knows,
not the one that everyone likes,
but that song that drifts on the restless undercurrent of a peaceful sea—
that is me.
That song that is heard in the back of your mind
but that you don’t really understand, so you don’t notice,
the one that laughs softly
and cries silently.

I am a sword—
not the one newly forged for a prince,
not the one shining on the wall as a remembrance of glory days long passed by,
but that sword held in a heavy hand or laid across a buckling knee—
that is me.
That sword that is slung across the back
of the tragic hero in the dark hood,
battle-scarred and weary,
keen as a streak of lightning.

I am a hand—
not the one that greets with a friendly smile,
not the one that strikes down,
but the one that seeks to give, to love, to be—
that is me.
That hand that would sacrifice itself to give another light,
that reaches out across generations,
across worlds,
across time.

The song, it doesn’t mind being unheard,
it will make beauty for the fathomless joy of it.

The sword, it doesn’t mind being worn down,
each time it is needed it will rise up again with more strength than the last time.

And the hand, it doesn’t mind being struck aside,
it will keep on giving, even when it can give no longer.

I am a wistful, forgotten verse brushing past the subconscious of a sleepy traveler.
I am a star of silver metal, restless for adventure and for danger.
I am a sacrifice held out to you, you in need, to lift you up.

I am the song of the sword in the hand of that passerby
you never knew was there.

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