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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

A Man of Few Words

In the end I’ve used so many,
but I am a man of few words.
I bring silence to a conversation.
My words do not ring
with the gigantic ring inside me.
Measure the love song
I sing for my children.
Tell harps how much music I hear.
Describe Mary
touching dawn with her eyes.

My true vocabulary
is a language of different sounds,
different meanings,
different voices.
It tells the floor of earth
where I’m standing.
The arches of the sky
how I struggle to be born.
And how much anguish
I must feel
when death buries me in quiet.

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