I hear the echoes of songs,
Collect the truths no one heeds.
I pick up signs, gather clues,
String them together like beads.
I travel through and beyond
The spaces conjured by thought,
Stand at the crossroads of times
And try each path, and what not.
So far and deep can I go
In search of my real self
To find it solved long ago
In this thin book on the shelf.
So many novels compress
All fates that one can conceive,
And if you want, you can read
The script of life that you live.
Julia Klimenova
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/it-has-all-been-written-already/
