What power have words

That they linger long after

The utterer dies?

Taking hold of a paper

Or a virtual page

Or grasping the very air

Like talons stuck in the fabric of

A collection of gases.

Since words echo through time

Curses must also

Even if the curser dies

Yet, if life changes for the better

Can it be? Did the curse expire too?

Or did we wander into a parallel universe?

Maybe we are really catatonic, in a padded cell

But living a fantasy life of love and perfection

Dreaming our microcosm?

The nature of reality

Is deplorably confusing

Perhaps that is why we should not be fearful

Should just follow our heart

Bravely do what we are meant to do

Toughen our skins and ASK for what we want

Do, and if it doesn’t work

Do again

Until it becomes a living dream.

(It doesn’t matter if you ask for something impossible

But try not to let it matter if you don’t get it)

© 2014 ViataMaja, Poezija


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