Today, I was going through a stack of papers and found some old writing that I had completely forgotten about. It was mixed in with old bills and what-not. On the back of an envelope, I had hurriedly scratched out a poem that I thought I'd share with you.
I'm unsure how long ago I wrote it, and even though I can clearly see that I did write it, by the penmanship, I have no recollection of it. I do write several pieces a week though, and I do my best to save all of them, but I'm not perfect at it.
EDIT: Read this aloud if you get lost in the text. Don't worry, no one is listening.
The Hummingbird …
I’m the fading summer.
I’m the moment.
I’m the noise, carried upward from the street below.
I’m a crumbling building.
I’m the dust, glinting in the sunlight.
I’m raindrops on the sidewalk, below you.
I’m the gold leaf in fall, caught in the breeze.
I’m a hummingbird, inside of you, searching for beauty.
I’m the cold sheets wrapping in two lovers.
I’m the hot breath exploding from my chest.
I’m above you, moving slowly, but beating quickly.
I’m the thought of it, embodied.
I’m the passage of time.
I’m like a boat on the ocean.
I’m the painting in the hallway, unobserved.
I’m someone’s object.
I’m a man.
You’re the flower.