Friday, February 16, 2007

Dedicated to Joanne
By Don Iannone

We write our lines.
Even the bitterest, saddest and most painful--
to the very end.
I think there comes a time--finally,
when we want someone
to simply take away the pen,
and stop the writing.
I think there comes a time--finally,
when the words become
too hard to write, and
what we write is too much to bear.
The writing stops--eventually
for all of us.
Even those of us writing
perfectly beautiful lives.

5 comments:

Borut said...

A hassidic rabi said: Man is the writing of God...

Don Iannone said...

Thanks Borut. And the words have been spoken and we live our lives around them...

floots said...

really like this one
it is a great template on which we can impose our own experience/narrative
it is also a most effective metaphor
thank you

Don Iannone said...

Thanks Floots. Appreciate the compliment. It seemed a good metaphor in this case and for this wonderful lady, who has slipped from our amist far too early.

Driftwood said...

And those left behind are hungry for more words but we must learn to cherish the fading ink.

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