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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Life Story

We are born,
much like the way
the cosmos was born
in the mighty darkness.
Forever came to an end.
A soul ready to receive
its eyes and fingers.
In a seminal stroke,
stars received their astronomers.
Air, the sound of voices,
and death received a childhood.

Now I am at the center
of all houses erected in my life.
All continents strewn
with stories and destinies,
to be told and put to music.
Where the clock says 12,
while I, half past 11,
am growing up again,
with Jack, Michael and Mark.

Looking at a spring garden
as my father did.
Writing my first poem
and asking my mother
how to spell the words.
Looking under stones
for tunnels to the other
side of earth,
and lighting candles
where I’ve been,
for family, friends, pets
and strangers, to find me.

Searching for crawfish,
poking into bird nests,
wondering where a cave might lead,
and playing with imaginary friends.
Sitting now in Saturday’s chair,
smiling to myself,
and hearing people
moving about in the rafters
of my house,
looking through treasures
I dragged home in triumph.

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