They are not the substance of my being,
I refuse, I refuse to let them define me,
Even though I repeatedly perceive myself
As only the sum of all my written words.
I seem to predicate my identity,
And everything that I am, every moment, Upon those words that call me father.
Every passing moment, I seem to perceive
Myself as the potential creator of a epic, poetic
Corpus of majestic words,
Written on the shores of this world,
But never washed away by the persistent waves of time,
And only in this do I seem to find my worth,
Which I have yet to earn.
I perceive that I live fully only if and when I write -
Fatal thinking that strays me from the true trajectory of life,
Which runs from moment to moment,
From love to love, and then to God.
Nay, in my words is not my worth,
But in the love I bear for God and man.
I live, in every moment, if I love.
Mortal words fade. Only love remains on the shores, immortalised
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