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011: That Other Self

As I read their poems with delight, from Friends I’ve chosen on this site
Their lines and verses filled, with meaning and with rhyme,
I know that I’m not worthy.

Mine are but brief snatches, of poems gathered in my sleep
Recited in their entirety or there for me to read
Provided by that Other Self, who visits in the night

Clear and precise his words are, I know what I have heard
But as morning breaks and I awake, like fleeting ghosts they disappear
Leaving only the smallest trace of their former selves

No matter how I try I cannot get him to return
The cord between us broken, with the dawn
Unable to remember all, unable to recall
I know that I’m not worthy

The words are his, not mine, I just have to write them down
And even that eludes me all the time
The Other Self has gone, and now my head’s an empty shell
Where bits and pieces of the whole are all that’s left to tell

Try as I might to rebuild it I never get it right
He knows that I’m not worthy and he mocks me in my plight
But, then again, I’m all He has, there’s no one else to slight
So I’ll be patient and content and he’ll come back again some night

———

A lot of my poems come from dreams,
If I don’t write them down right away, they are usually lost,
But, sometimes I can retrieve them
————–

What I give form to in daylight, is only 1% of what I see in darkness
M.C.Esher 1898-1972

Colin J… 23 Jan 2007
Revised 29th Mar.2009

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