They Are All Of You | 2.9.21

I write words. You know this. Thousands of words by now, acres of words were they planted like seeds, fields of these that bloom, and spring forth flowers of a certain hue. What I hope, what I wonder, if it’s known they are all for you? Give me the gift of language, five hundred dialects and their intricacies, one thing would emerge, one truth above all, they carry your name, they sing your grace.

I write words. You know this. So many words that decorate so many pages in so many ways, but they’re all silhouettes of the same soul, all shadows on some wall, a profile I recognize with half a glance. I know you, old friends, flying across a world. I know you, I remember your taste on my tongue.

These words are your words, you’ll understand no matter how I sound when I say them. These words are your words, they will find you in the end.

In any language

you would understand these words.

They are all of you.

Haiku on Life by Tyler Knott Gregson

Song of the Day

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