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i know what you mean
by Charlie Morganthe words drip from the page;
plop, plop. stop. feel/grope.
questions formed from earthly lips
never get an answer of certainity.
always, always. it's the words
that get us lost, from each other.
fingers numbed by too small button-holes
stilled by fumbling, searching fingers;
yet, the wind cuts through, slices us;
dices us into little pieces of Hope;
none of which can extend to draw close,
the meaning to our tomorrows, our life.
at long length of attempted communication;
let us not use words to express ourselves. 01/29/2009 Posted on 01/29/2009
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 01/29/09 at 06:26 PM Good write Charlie. But is the words that give us hope though the braille of love leaves us breathless it is the hope some how that we say has meaning, something more permanent than the sweat that evaporates into a memory as the words are filed into a closet that can be opened at will. A thoughful write my friend.
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| Posted by Mary Frances Spencer on 01/30/09 at 06:14 AM Yet we do fumble for, find and fling out those words into the winds of expression! MFS |
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