I've spent most of the past 2 weeks doing a couple of papers plus a cd-rom about a school project which is still trying to unwind itself from the confines of my hard disk, and while I was chilling out under the hot greek sun by the sea with my friends' laughter fighting the sound of the waves, all my memories of the books and poems I read and loved crept up on me, tired of being kept in the dark recesses of my mind for so long!
And even though William Butler Yeats is not really my top favourite poet, I couldn't seem to get this off my mind... So, for all the words that take flight around us, spoken or not...
Where my books go
All the words that I utter,
And all the words that I write,
Must spread out their wings untiring,
And never rest in their flight,
Till they come where your sad, sad heart is,
And sing to you in the night,
Beyond where the waters are moving,
Storm-darken'd or starry bright.