A year ago, I went through a phase where I loved spoken word. I don't know what it was, I've never been much of a poetry person but I listened to Sarah Kay's works and I loved it. It was bewitching, beguiling and enchanting. I was drawn in. So, I tried my hand at it, and although I didn't know what it was about then, I wrote it anyway...and decided to share with you guys! :D
(Oh, and if you have the chance be sure to listen to some of Sarah Kay's works! They're entrancing!)
Hope you guys like it. If so, vote and leave a comment and yes please to constructive criticism!
If the nibs of time collated with the ink of oceans amassed could, I would be worthy of you. Sands of time however, trickle like dust through fingertips, no matter how hard they are grasped and the water that slips into that crack in the concrete is unnoticed. But, ah, combined together I notice that you mesh like mush in the form of that sandcastle so innocently formed but wiped away so quickly at tide.
And whilst the moonlight pulls unobtrusively I look yonder and see a speck. A speck so minute but significant that it leads to more light. And the dyes of nature are gathered to paint this collage nobody understands but everyone sees. But nevertheless it is a speck sparked through a moment of imagination. Always a speck, never more. For if it were more I would be worthy of you..oh so worthy.
And finally you are aired with that sweeping brush, and brush you do like death, silently but completely, or so the artist thinks. But I see and I see with the help of that pinprick of light that you are so big, so incomprehensible and I, I am too small, too small to be worthy of you, because the picture is incomplete and you are so much bigger than the picture, that blood could not bind you, passed from father to son, mother to daughter, whether in musty binds or mournful ballad is no matter, because soon enough you also fade, unknown and forgotten.
And the light of life tugs at it's rope to grope and grasp, but it slips and you are lost before the blind man returns and touches its frayed ends after so long that the picture has changed and the melody a whisper on the wind. But they still sing, these artists, they sing loud and high in an effort to recapture that tune that twists and becomes something more but never enough, for you are incomprehensible and I, unworthy of you.
But I hear and I mime as the sand trickles and the ocean runs hues of ink struck by dawning rays of light and quills scratch behind me, I mime just to catch that speck, that speck so miniscule but so enlightening and I am grateful because i can mime even though we will never be able to capture that song in that picture, because you are so much and I am so little and so unworthy of you.
