Brief Entry

On By NW FilbertIn absence, Aging, death, desire, Poetry, Writing

On my Deathbed

 

I told language:

Thanks for having my children

 

The language had names,

As did the children:

 

They were all words.

 

I dreamt of a door

The kind without windows

 

That always stands open.

I remembered some more

 

So I said the unspoken:

I gave them my want.

 

It declined.

3 thoughts on “Brief Entry”

"A word is a bridge thrown between myself and an other - a territory shared by both" - M. Bakhtin

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