The milk
moment, the
churning need-
bubble echoes
empty into
“them.”
The words that circle,
your bird’s eye
view is
weak and
needing.
Only what you catch
will live another
day;
so it’s
spoken.
The words you hear
are reminders, a memory
stream bright and
beaming.
What you say to
yourself,
how you picture
what is
thought and felt;
all the word
storms that plague and
infect your life,
all the word waves
that wash over and
renew.
You never know what
they think,
you wish you
could.
Their smiles and lips
move so gracefully
sometimes,
they seem like
they
live in a
better
world.
If only you could
package yourself
up,
give yourself to them
with ribbons bright and
flowing.
If only adoration came
as
easy as
needing; if only
your life was always
worth
cherishing, keeping
and renewing.
The words that circle,
your bird’s eye
view is
weak and
needing.
Only what you catch
will live another
day;
so it’s
spoken.
I sit on top of
words that fall,
they echo into the
chasm of empty space
where my feelings
float and
swim.
Do I possess enough
meaning
and care
for my feelings to
float and fly?
If only that question could
always be answered with
“yes.”
Speak to me,
language!
Hear me,
language!
Mystery is
beautiful,
but how beautiful
are love and
affection?
How many are plagued
with shame and
doubt?
If only they
could bathe
in inner worlds of
kind and
gentle
words.
How to purify a
world’s
thought-
conversation?
How to purify how
we “quantify,”
“qualify,”
“reduce,”
“define”
ourselves?
Perhaps in a pure
sunlight,
in a pure
wind,
held by the pure
whisper
of life,
could such a thing
take place.
Where is the purest
thought-stream?
Who possesses
the gentlest, kindest
words?
Where to walk
for the winds of
better spiritual weather?