It was ten years ago, almost eleven,
when I, who strives to be a master of words,
lost my grasp on one.

I could tell its shape on my tongue,
its sounds made sense in my ears, yet
it did not belong to me any more.
It has melted away.

It was ten years ago, almost eleven,
when language first turned its back on me, left
me hanging.

And yet I still chose to try and tame it.

In the ten years and some months since,
I have crafted a wall and a mountain,
I carved smiles, painted tears,
I drew breath. Both my lips and
my pen gently circled around it.

This word still eludes me, most stubbornly,
and I find myself using it only
in some borrowed fashions, and once,
just this miserable once,
in the title.
This is not a pipe
Like most the work of yours I have read, this is absolutely fantastic. I never really have a critique against your work and this is not excepting
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I am the 24 Wild Rovers
If You Wish to Give C4C Click on the Smlileys

"Success is as dangerous as failure. Hope is as hollow as fear." - from Tao Te Ching

As I was reading it, I thought there seemed to be a powerful emotion lacking, then the penultimate line came and made everything fit just right. Wonderful.