Where is it hiding?
Why is it hiding?
I just want to find it
and show it to the world.
But it runs from me
Flees to where I cannot reach
Why does it do this?
Is it afraid of me?
What happens when I catch it?
When I put it on the page?
When its words fall on the
whites of the page,
does it not come alive
and then live forever?
Maybe not!
Maybe, the story is alive now.
Maybe by catching it and
nailing it to the page, it dies.
I kill it.
Maybe this page is its casket.
The book its tomb;
The library a cemetery.
Maybe I’m a murder of words,
phrases, sentences and stories.
Maybe I should stop and let them live
Live free in the wind
In the unchainable wind.



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