Poems Musings and Updates by Elsa Raime (pronounced RAHeem)
I will not believe in the hum drum reality of daily life.
I am not the shape of a box.
I am not rectangular, or round.
I have no size, no price tag, no instructions for care.
I do not wake to the same sun rising.
The clouds that drift overhead, blow on.
It is while I speak to you that angels sing stars into existance, and while I listen that flowers bloom in my heart.
I am the dirty soles of worn out shoes and the road they walk upon is untouched.
My shape changes on a whim.
If you can recognize me I invite you in.
I am not the shape of a box.
I am not rectangular, or round.
I have no size, no price tag, no instructions for care.
I do not wake to the same sun rising.
The clouds that drift overhead, blow on.
It is while I speak to you that angels sing stars into existance, and while I listen that flowers bloom in my heart.
I am the dirty soles of worn out shoes and the road they walk upon is untouched.
My shape changes on a whim.
If you can recognize me I invite you in.
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