Sharing

Steve Jobs and Mark Zuckerberg are only copycats (I won't say thieves until a tribunal has stated so, but that's my thought). There are many like them.

I won't copy. I could have done it, but it's too degradating for my own intellect.

So today, my dear five readers, I present you with a poem that astonished me for its raw beauty.

The author is Rochelle Marie Watkins (http://rochellesmarie.wordpress.com/).

Rochelle, I have always thought that your brain is remarkably intelligent, and I hope that sharing your poem is enough a token of admiration and appreciation.
Thank you from writing this, and for granting me the permission to publish it on my humble page.

I am, you are (by Rochelle Marie Watkins)

I am the walls of your room

Protecting you from the street

And from the petty greed of your neughbors.

I am the windows, bringing in the light

I am the warmth of your covers

Sheltering you for the night from the icy air

And leading you to an unconscious garden of curious images, abstract postulations, 

Fantastic devices and radical situations that do not exist in the concrete world.

I am the waking kiss

I am your shoes

Taking you wherever you wish you go

And staying with you when you end up

Someplace foreign, or somewhere

You did not plan.

When you march with confidence, I am there.

When you ramble,

I am there

I am the refreshing water you drink

I am the tasty disches you eat

I am the cat who nuzzles your face

And the dog who dances when you come home

I am the sunny day

Warming you as you nap in soft grasses

I am the hot shower

That massages your shoulders

I am the stranger who smiles at you on the bus

And I am the soft chair after a draining day

I am the love that surrounds the space around you

When you are lonely

And I am the hand that holds yours when you most ned it

I am the air that you breath at the tops of mountains

And I am the yellow flowers that grow in valleys

And on the banks of streams.

I am the green of trees in Winter

And I am the sound of rain falling on your roof

I am the lines that form on your face after years of laughing

I am the burst of citrys when you open an orange

I am the roots that distort the neatly built sidewalks

And I am the arms that catch you when you stumble.

I am your most comfortable sweater

I am your favourite pen

I am the handsome boy you glance at through a cafe window

And I am the cute girl who works behind the register

I am the soft darkness when the world is too intense

And I am the morning bird song after a restless night

I am the conversation till seven a.m.

And I am the hug between closest friends,

I am the quiet room after too much noise

And I am the knock on the door after too much silence

I am the creak of wood floors as you walk down your hall

And I am the steam of hot tea

Rising out of your cup,

Warming your face.