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gaps
by Kate Swearingenyou are not special, he says.
fortunate, maybe.
our world is made of stories to fill the
gaps from eye to mind gaps from me to
myself and
your stories are no different.
without them you have no self no world, really.
a flash of hand and
sky and grains of wood or
sand.
living is strange this way.
disjointed.
they dont see the warped flimsy bridges they rely on
they fill in the gaps to make their world make sense. but it is
blindness.
fear.
they are not
really living.
but you, you dance in the air
above the abyss.
01/30/2007 Author's Note: Originally this has a disjointed format with gaps and spaces in it, but I can't figure out how to get pathetic to keep that formatting. Any suggestions?
Posted on 01/30/2007
Copyright © 2024 Kate Swearingen
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Jared Fladeland on 02/02/07 at 01:05 AM i liked this. it has a whimsicalness. It actually reminds me of rococo art, although maybe that's just because I'm learning about it in one of my history classes |
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