syl·la·bles in my life
i cannot utter anymore
with the grace of youth
i stutter with freedom
and slur in wild love
words that once made
sense now are blind
faith doesn’t see and
hope rarely speaks
i’ve never needed you
to spell it out for me
the echo of emptiness
calls out like the sea
ebbing flowing waving
crashing shoring up
a million tear drops
whisper gently into
the gossamer of years
winds blow away our
comforts of home in
a smoke of memories
lost childhood remains
both here and gone
audible and sadly silent
echoes of those poems
voice words that sound
exactly the same but mean
something entirely different
words
Poetry
There is a pleasure in the pathless words…
To mingle with the universe, and feel
What I can ne’er express, yet can not all conceal.
The words are lovely, dark and deep.
I went to the words because I wished to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of language.
In the words we return to reason and faith.
Come to the words, for here is rest.
Literature does not grow wild in the words.
I put my heart to school in the words.
In the words is perpetual youth.
Whose words these are I think I know.
We are not out of the words yet.
Non-verbal
I’ve adjectived up my life so much I forgot how to be simple and plain