Poetry of a Conlanger

Thursday, November 24, 2005

Declared

If I declare this possible,
Does it make it so?
Who am I to prophecy such?

My careful voice rings out
In the bluest of whispers
In the shadowed hall.
If it echoes,
Is it still one sound?

I wish, I wish….
I wish I might be free to dream,
Just once.

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