Your words are music
to the ears of all,
your unique perspective
a joy oft forgotten.
sing any song you like
so long as it is not your own
Tag: words
Origin Story
I know you
I walked with you
once upon a dream
or so I thought anyway–
it all grows confusing
when I stop to think about it.
So I try not to stop and think about it
but I do
every now and then.
I’ll take a detour
on a road, a path,
an avenue
of questionable memories
in my brain.
Disorientation takes hold
and it all grows confusing again.
I know you
but it isn’t fate
and it wasn’t the past
and my mind never could have
come up with a dream
like you.
When the Poets Run Out of Things to Say
The saddest word
I ever heard
I heard of just today
that loving her
was to defer
more love to self some way.
How crude,
how worn,
how deep forlorn
that view of love so flawed!
How evident
of life that’s spent
in vanity’s own fraud.
If only you
could see right through
that lie you’re holding close
then you might see
despairingly
it’s not love that you’ve imposed . . .
One Bad Thing
She never had
one bad thing to say
until she walked away
with this curse
upon her lips:
“May you get
exactly
what you want.”
Etymology
Answering machine.
So basic in meaning and function:
a machine that catches answers
when the phone is left to ring.
Words are simple.
Andswaru, Old English. Against. To swear.
Machina, Latin. Expedient.
I learn such things waiting.
I go through old books
and my fingers gather dust.
There are thousands of words written
on those dictionary pages.
Even dictionary has a definition, even word,
even reading.
Where do they come from? Where do they go?
How do we know to look? How do we find?
I have questions but the answering machine
has no answers.
But I learn such things waiting,
waiting on the phone to ring.
Words are simple. Silence too.
.
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.
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It Falls In Place Over Time
Words are sand in the hourglass–
still, stagnant–
waiting and begging
for you crafter of tales
to turn the glass
again
“Almost”
No doubt in mind,
no second guess,
it is true love
the heart impressed.
And it did try
and oft succeeded
but “almost” was
what did defeat it.
The Door
some walls are
load-bearing,
some doors
need their locks,
some words speak
much louder when
we cannot even
talk
.
.
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.
.
I cheated: this poem is a repost 🤷♂️
Don’t Play the Game
I hate for you to see me like this–
not weak, but vulnerable.
You may wonder what the difference is
and to be honest,
maybe there’s not much of one:
I would be just fine
with a kick or ten when I’m down.
I’m weak, you know that.
But for you to see that a stray word
richocheted and grazed
this heart I try to hide on my sleeve,
wounding me,
would break me.
I’m not strong, you know that.
Is it pride? I don’t know.
I’m just sorry you had to see this.
Let me rest my eyes,
lay down my head;
you can throw me out with the trash
come morning.
I’m vulnerable, didn’t you know?
Something in the Air
Other things would make more sense,
would work out more, be far less tense,
and still I’m reaching for a star
to fit a hollowed puzzle’s scar,
to cauterize my wounded heart
by poisoned lips disguised as art
.
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Started writing a new story, which sounds great until I think about all the other unfinished ones. Also, this will probably be a busy week so you’ll get one of two extremes: either I’ll be procrastinating and spending too much time here or I might potentially disappear for a few days. Seems there is no middle ground 🙂
Have a good week either way!
The Unnecessary Blog 