Not that I make them out, I hear the shape in the air,
Creative license bestowed on the moment misinterpreted,
I can make sense of it. I was there.
I mean, there past a wall, pockets of air space divides,
Past rooms with windows, sealed shut from outside,
But even considering, that meagre tidbit of fact,
I saw their shape in my mind and my mind had to act.
I see what I heard and I know what I found,
Interpretation is mine, in my mind, that I mined,
For any loose change, any mineral rich ore,
I seek from the word shapes I see beyond the door.
But the everything I know is comparable to naught,
And the meaning I communicate is powerless and gaunt,
The you that I know is not the self you project,
The word shapes through spaces my mind can’t inflect.
No comments:
Post a Comment