This is another one of my original free verse poems, written a little over a year ago.  It is one of my personal favorites.  I’ve been told that it sounds Dickinson-esque.  Feel free to tell me what you think!


My life is a book,
Each word,
A thought,
An action.

Each day a page,
Each chapter’s end,
Another year gone by.

I am the author,
Of my life,
I choose the type with care,
What sort of book
I want to live,
What story
I shall be.

I provide
The characters,
The setting, plot and theme –
Yet still,
One crucial thing remains,
To let my book
Take flight.

My life as yet
Is meaningless,
It lacks what I can’t give –
The words I wrote
Have no import,
Without the touch of Grace.

That Angel white
With golden hands,
That touch the inmost soul,
It’s Grace that I
Must come to know,
To give my story Truth.

It may be months
It may be years,
Before I feel that touch,
But this I know:
That when I do,
My life will be complete –

And Light and Truth
Will live in me,
And in the words I wrote.

© Samuel Birrer and Serendipity, 2013.

About SamBirrer

Professional chemist and amateur writer with a love of learning. Trying to live with a Scout Mindset:
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