Letters softly painted on the darkness. Cryptically they mirror my thoughts and I attempt to decipher. The x. The o. The period. An alphabet soup in my heart.
Knee to chin. Resting. Thinking. As though conclusions are waiting on my cue. To at last take the stage. Stifle us all with their Shakespearian monologue.
It's not a lie. It's what I wish were true. As the grass grows over and the mourners dwindle. The funeral is living. Never sure you'll ever want to again.
I tell myself I'm better now that I've gotten used to life without. And I want to believe it, but I don't think I ever will.
Letters scrape their shadows across my eyes in messages not unlike people.
To see. To feel.
But nothing to hold. Or hold you.
Just voices I'm only now realizing I never really heard.
Thursday
5/18/2006 10:09:00 PM
I felt you actually say a lot in this poem, I could see many meanings and thoughts in this one. I especially liked, An alphabet soup in my heart" and "Letters scrape their shadows across my eyes in messages not unlike people"
Both I could relate to, and understand. But I wondered what the common direction of this poem was, or if it was just random bouncing thoughts.
i tend to believe if a poet reveals the meaning behind their words to readers it ruins it for them. scratches out all the ideas the reader had come up with on their own.
but to be polite and answer your question, it's basically about losing touch with people. and how often the ways in which we choose to communicate are what lead to that breakdown.
nice site you have by the way. wanna do a link swap?
i really like ur poetry...
just stopping by:)
thanx Kai.
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