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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Somewhere Listening

Do not believe
I am self-important,
writing things down.
Addressing walls
as if it mattered,
as if my shadow listened.
It is loneliness
that speaks this way.
Reverence,
in a church without religion.
The bells inside me
sing with words.
Much ado about nothing.

I am a child
looking for friends.
Children,
who will not criticize
my simplicity.
I am a member of the club,
but I stumble into walls,
I have no grudges,
but sorrow haunts me.
I turned around and said,
I am lost,
and no one heard me.
But only a little,
I added.

If I go somewhere else
I will be more lost,
harder to find,
so I remain as I am,
waiting,
writing things in water,
counting drops of rain,
tying the sunshine into bows
until the wind
tells me how to return
to where I belong.

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