Words are nothing more
than dust upon the page
they drift and scatter
like my random thoughts of you
I'm hidden in the pages of your books
and feel
your thumb flick through
the memories you smear
But I am ink upon your days
and I'm smeared across
each sentence you configure
So don't try to read between the lines
I'll be dancing on each vowel
and spitting consonants into the putrid air
Great write, sometimes I think every written word is holy, sometimes I fear they don't mean a thing.
Way to go, Sheila. That gets him told...and besides that, it's chuck full of great images. Raynette
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love the first stanza. It really jumped out at me. Regards Ian