notes that exist only to be erased
melodies that are only heard within our heads
songs that only us writers know the lyrics to
chords with no names
books with no words to describe themselves
people with no single defining trait
games with no rules, no winners or losers
worlds with no boundaries, restrictions or doubts
when silent speakers arrive and blind artists do share
what magnificent pieces they've dunked in their pools of artistry
truly beauty may be defined
as a moment, frozen in time
can you hear, the sound of keys clicking and pencils scribbling
the sound of fingers tuning and voices humming
the frustration, pulling out your hairs and cursing the gods you don't know
as the sun rises behind a gray sky
perhaps it's true that our voices are muffled by the sea of you and me
so write me a letter, hold out your hand and deliver it to mine
deliver your bottled comfort, a jar of expression, and a flask of something sweet
sealed with wax from candles that kept you company on the longest semblance of dusk
from far off where the dawn still breaks east
and where paintings dangle so dazzlingly it's like they're floating midair
we can run away, only stopping to play
the songs that truly have no meaning, but us
YOU ARE READING
Uninspired Writer
PoéziaJust a little poetry, about having a bad time, and looking up :-)
