The Poems Come From All Directions Poem by Shalom Freedman

The poems come from all directions
They overwhelm with their meanings and their beauties-
How many voices and names finer than mine
Have there been and will there be in the world?
Hundreds? Thousands? Millions?

It does not matter.

Each of us is only the voice he alone is.
And how strong how great that voice is
Is not given by measuring against others.
If I am nothing and nothing forever
As I most likely am and will be
It is not because there are so so many
Better than me.