The Man Hiding Behind the Words.
by Steven Craig
Far from wise
Always a shy one.
Far from the exact and the perfect.
Barely a writer.
Often a traveler.
A ponderer of the witchcraft of emotions.
A beggar for the handout of knowledge.
Indeed, a short lived, brightly burning flame.
A whisper in the evening leaves.
A passing moment that played a song.
Remembered by those that I have touched.
Forgotten by those I stirred.
The last punctuation of a fading echo.
Heard once and then was gone.
But if you ever danced in my soul
You would nearly drown.