Given breath, given life,
Given sorrow, given strife,
Knowledge learned
Through work and life,
Is anything truly mine?
Father's eyes, mother's chin,
Sister's laugh and brother's grin,
Face defined
By blood and bone,
Is it even mine?
My own mind, my own sin,
My own voice, and my own skin,
What good are they
In my life
When nothing's truly mine?
Lessons learned and put to heart,
Even though it's torn apart,
These things are mine
And mine alone.
And none shall take them from me.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Mine?
Scribbled by H.J. Hanauer at 11:09 AM
Labels: Introspection, Poetry
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1 responses:
very intuitive...you are finding that all we have of our own are those things we learn from living day to day...this was very thoughtful...
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