The gift of words

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poen a desired to write on the the art of writing itself, also a semi biographical work. SOme lines of this piece were actually taken from an earlier rough draft of another poem which was originally titled Nobody knows me for the better.

Submitted: July 10, 2008

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Submitted: July 10, 2008

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How does an old soul express oneself?
Pass down to others their experiences and heartaches
As well as the conquering of all tribulations
In what manner shall I share my life’s ventures?

For I have climbed the highest mountain of emotions
To topple aimlessly to the cold barren ground below
Time, and time again
However, my spirit holds no space for bitterness

I have stood at the summit of the valley of
Hopes and illusions, my trenchant sword
Of truth, poised in hand to battle the vile
Faces that glimmer with manipulation
And their blade pierces of deception
Yet being the victorious, I walk away ever so humble

How shall I be remembered?

I have spit in the face of conformity
And bathed in the essence of rebelliousness
For me and persecution are no distant strangers
At a vulnerable time in life, images of happiness
Were clung to in desperation
But the swift smack of reality across the cheek
Still burns my face to this day


A raging dragon once showed me many appeasing sights
And said decide unto you what is purely evil
A silken white swan appeared through the flames
And she endowed upon me many visions
Saying allow your own spirit to interpret
What is truly wholesome and good
Outside these dual forces spiral about
Inside the silence of the soul
It shall be known which is true and what is false

After the persona of this life has turned
To ashes and to dust, gaze into the liberation
Of the vast expanse of the sky, feel the wind stir
And listen to me whisper inspiration through the
Soothing calm flow of the breeze, for I have said before
When the reaper comes knocking, it is to the sky I will
Remain in eternal union with

How shall I be remembered?

At times the phrase nobody knows me
Has been branded upon my conscience,
Possessing the golden chest of knowledge
From experience has taught me how to cope

How may these things be told
With the finest present of all
Requiring no price tag, it is the offering
Of my words for they are truly the best
Gift that I have to offer……………………………………………………


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