What happens when you’re cold and dead
to all the words that you have read,
the stories floating in your head,
the inked-up pages you have bled?
Discover now that I'm resigned
to think our words are reassigned.
Like spirit, they can’t be confined
but born inside another’s mind.
© Ginny Brannan April 2012
|image by Manu Pombrol|
Shared at The Mag #115 -- image from Tess Kincaid.
She provides the image, we provide the story!