
At an Ekphrastic poetry group tonight I wrote this poem.
_______________
A constant companion
hands to keys
my fingers type
and you follow me
doing a dance only
I can see, you flick
across a crowded screen.
-=-
You know the words that
I will type but you must
follow me to get them all right.
we both know that coming in
2nd is to be your plight.
-=-
My hands look distinctly
tired and old but you
in your blackness
always look bold
and unafraid of the
occasional mis-type
of word or prose.
You watch closely
always mocking me
wherever I go.
-=-
My mind weaves tales
and my quick fingers
follow suit, and yes,
you're always there too,
there can be no dispute.
And when I am in thought
considering carefully my
words I'd next type, you
pause as well along with me
and as I type the present
you follow making it all history.
-=-
Hurried fingers dance up
and down and left then right
always followed with echoes
of pure delight. Fast but not quite
keeping pace, my shadowy friend
can't quite surpass me in this race.
To create, to soar, to fly across
the keys to master a juxtaposition
with my same ease.
-=-
Yes, you'll always trail behind me
following my every move, stroke
and click of the keys I press,
Alas, your delay will always make
you second best.
_____________________
Thanks for reading! - Sam
About the Creator
ᔕᗩᗰ ᕼᗩᖇTY
Sam Harty is a poet of raw truth and quiet rebellion. Author of Lost Love Volumes I & II and The Lost Little Series, her work confronts heartbreak, trauma, and survival with fierce honesty and lyrical depth. Where to find me
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Comments (2)
🌹
That’s very philosophical, Sam, a great insight into a soul that competes with herself.