Words Spoken, Words Heard. Poem by Midnight Clarity

words stumble on the threshold
so close, so close to air
so close to being spoken,
so close to taking shapes
that cannot be undone
so nearly a creation
of what new world?
do they stumble out of shyness?
out of nerves, of hot excitement
longing to be free
to sing a paradise of textures
to paint joy across the sky.
are they weighted with compassion?
or with pain? Phoenix tears
that heal all wounds and lead to smiles
or acid fumes that cut and bead
the world with copper scented blood.
There is no way to know.
They stumble on the threshold of my lips
and fall beneath the lens of others minds
that call them raw or rich or empty
making love or pain in equal measure
fitting them to needs that fill a moment
so far removed from me
their echoes are like strangers
wearing my face.