Our Stories Become Us
Like the sisters of fate,
I weave the fabric
of my life
out of words;
strained, cracked,
sometimes broken,
the right words joined
create voices, make tales;
repeated often enough,
they tell me who I am,
what I am;
they become
me.
The tale is always wiser
than the teller. What
flows from one, flows
from many;
tales made from
flesh and blood,
raging lunatics,
barroom bards,
frightened midwives,
lustful, innocent moons
and soft seductive sunsets
as waves wash and splash
on the beach of lovers
by the salient sea,
stories are life, our lives,
the blood pulsating through
our veins,
life as we tell, as it tells us.
The naked truth
is never naked,
but always clothed
in a garment of fine linen;
words woven
into tales–tall ones,
small ones, true
ones, false ones–
by christening
the tales,
eventually, they become
my story, our story,
and our stories become us.
Image attribution: FreeImages.com, Simon Wong http://www.freeimages.com/photographer/summer98-40213