A pen to pass between my heart and hearts I long to reach...
A vision words won't well describe,
of silence journeys,
and the secrets which they keep.
A paper's surface, flat and thin,
marked with lines which
a hazy view,
a sketch of shadows cast by sceneries of the mind.
If only all could move to heights of viewing depths between the lines...
is bent by c u r vA
t u r e
s of words,
and language flows
like mudflats in the wet of winter cold,
slopping through the spaces Minds Were Meant to Fly.
A pen to pass from hand to eye the sounds of subtle songs,
melodies of dreams which
words can only screech. A view in silence, grandly coloured, word-bound pictures serve to bleach and fade.
How is contact made within a
world of Civil-Lies,
with rules meant to disguise the very game that's played?
How does a searching heart reach past the sea of salty lonely,
to show another mind that someone else is deeply real?
Who can see me past the pit of words and
into sceneries where we
remember how to