With Our Hands
All the words ever uttered
arise from that one first
petulant cradle song
of 'why'?
A 'why'
reprised and voiced
with infinite variations.
Mysterious ways test us constantly.
The One mystery writer however
rewards both the hearing the
and the deaf,
by writing yet more mysteries
with our own hands.
In truth, the book of life
is unreadable
unless we write it.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
