quinta-feira, 12 de janeiro de 2017

Red quill

These rigid, shaken
hands of mine
don't seem to be worthy
of the graceful, fine
and yet fragile
steadiness of this pen.

I fear it might break;
I fear I cannot learn
to recognize my hand
or myself in these words,
in their sake.

But I shall keep trying
to make it beautiful,
to make it better;
come to trust my quill
and for once turn my life
into a real poem -
my most honest love letter.

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