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As If My Hand
What was it he said on page seventeen
Of his “Reader” which I held in my hands?
Why should I hear it more as an echo
Than something profound from his pen?
It’s only a statement
Mere words on a page
A visualization of thought,
Nothing more than a personal truth.
Yet of all five hundred and fifteen pages
This one echoes the loudest again and again
Within my thoughts,
As if something profound from his pen.
As though it were not only a truth within him
But also within myself.
It’s something I’ve felt
Something I’ve known,
Echoed here from his pen,
That within my pages exists.
What it was he said on page seventeen
Was for me confirmation of truth
As if my hand moved the pen.
Loved this poem. Every element of truth echoes in it.
Ah yes, and like Robert Frost is to me! Wonderful poem. I love how you say that it's something echoed from his pen, something you've felt and known. Fantastic.
I know the feeling! Sara Teasdale's work speaks to me in the same manner.
Jessica