met a lady
Met a lady I thought I mighta
Been ableda do something for
‘till I remembered in meeting her
she’d been meeting me right back
and it was hat tipped “howdya do”
and the crisp sounds of my footprints
like a whispered memory
asking forgiveness
for having happened
to’ve been remembered
Been ableda do something for
‘till I remembered in meeting her
she’d been meeting me right back
and it was hat tipped “howdya do”
and the crisp sounds of my footprints
like a whispered memory
asking forgiveness
for having happened
to’ve been remembered
Comments 4
Let's be honest.
I've read a lot. I've read some classics, I've some not so classics, I've read a lot of student writing, I've read a lot of unpublished creative writing in general, and you, dear, not that writing should be measured in comparison because it stands quite well alone, can write unlike any other.
And one day I hope bookstores have racks and racks with copy after copy of your creations (and each one deserves a book of its own).
And it's people like you who make people like me want to step into the world of publishing so I can shout your words, your hymns into the sky in dreams and hopes that just one person will hear and realize what I hear and realize when I read your words, that just one person feels what you feel when you write them and that just one person, one person not too afraid to experience the passion of words, just two ears that aren't afraid to be inspired, to be saved, to be harbored.
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You, precious, are something that at times I wish I could bottle and enjoy. Slowly, carefully, pouring capfull after drip dropped capfull and reclining, eyes closed, in the comfort. Your words are greatly appreciated and I pray one day you decide to take that step into that world, not for my words, but for your love of words in general. If you decide on NYC for grad school, you know you've got a friend here already.
thank you.
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