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We All Have a Story


Everyone has an incredible story
Inside of them
Each person is like an Encyclopedia
A to Z
And under each letter
There is a fascinating tale
That only they can tell


The people of the world
Should share more
Of the stories
They carry inside of them
Stories of love and pain
Joy and loss
Sorrow and happiness
And that way
Tears may fall
Instead of


I had seen this poem on a poetry poster years ago,

sparking that curiosity of poetry…


“And it was at that age…
poetry arrived
in search of me, I don’t know, I don’t know where it came from,
from winter or a river.
I don’t know how or when,
No, they were not voices, they were not words, nor silence,
But from a street I was summoned,
From the branches of night,
Abruptly from the others,
Among violent fires
Or returning alone,
There I was without a face
And it touched me.
I did not know what to say, my mouth
Had no way
With names
My eyes were blind,
And something started in my soul,
Fever or forgotten wings,
And I made my own way,
That fire
And I wrote the first faint line,
Faint, without substance,
Pure nonsense
Pure wisdom
Of someone who knows nothing,
And I suddenly saw
The heavens unfastened
And open
Palpitating plantations,
Shadows perforated,
With arrows, fire and flowers,
The winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesimal being,
Drunk with the great starry void,
Likeness, image of mystery,
I felt myself a pure part
Of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
My heart broke free on the open sky.”

~ Pablo Neruda, Selected Poems


That curiosity for poetry followed me through this tale...

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