My Journey (illusorynirvana) wrote,
My Journey

Listening to the Harp

Today I tried to write,

But my ink had dried and hardened.

Invisible words make no poem.

Maybe I have forgotten how to listen,

To listen to the words which become ink.

Maybe I’ve just become a little deaf.

Why don’t I hear the harp,

That plays in Guthema’s heart.

It is always there, you say.

Like the music in an elevator.

Empty or full,

It’s always there, you say.

Maybe I just need to understand,

That there are no two harps,

But one.

That there are no two hearts,

But one.
Tags: poem
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