March 15, 2006

Ancestral blessings

Their words come to me
On the edge of the wind
Push aside my thoughts
Consume my words
And take control of my hand

My writing hand dances at their will
Grabbing at my notebook
Commandeering my pen
To gently place their words
On these pages

I call myself a poet
I call myself a writer
When it is their words
I plagiarise
Against my own will

I have no insights
My wisdom is drained from their knowledge
I have nothing to say
My voice is theirs
The movement of my lips
Caused by the strings they control

I am an empty shell
An insignicant vessel
How then can I claim achievement of dreams spoken in my voice
When it is them who speak?

The voices in my head
Have taken over

Such is my existence

Until I find the answers
I shall continue to pretend
I have something to say
Words to speak
Thoughts to write

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