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
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