
we don't know who we are, per se, but we know who we are Not:
we're nothing that's passed through us, been remembered, or forgot
we're not the pain we've suffered and we're not the battles won
we're not the vases broken
not the darkness
not the Sun
we may be simply exhaled breath
we may be unsung arias, yet
About the Creator
Birdy Rain
They always said I talked too much and so I began to write. I can be found on Big Island (Hawai'i) talking to cats, making chocolate, or "working on my book."



Comments (2)
Simply beautiful. To be an unsung aria. Yes.
Unsung arias. I really loved that! Beautiful poem!