My Pen Hath Powers beyond My Dreams
Have you my name elsewhere moved?
Have I too much ink and paper sent on to you? It
must seem you are my only correspondent conquest
to read my feeble scrawls. That question will
be a question to perplex your mind, if such thoughts
deem important for investigation. I keep no
records nor do I tally days spent away from your
scrutiny. To me, you are like breathing in and out,
I do not count the breaths I take, for life continues
beyond the simple gathering of words that
comprise my daily life. There is no desperation beyond
the time that is allotted to each of us. To continue is not
dependent on your sympathetic eye. But knowing you
are a part of life today, tomorrow and always,
steals my breath away. Did you know that?
Theresa Dould Cummings© 11/16/2009
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.