A Few Thousand Words

April 18, 2014 § Leave a comment


I was never fond
of the search of definitions of alien words,
A hassle they’ve proven
and troublesome of an act it seemed.

A child, commiting a sin I was,
and a pact with oneself it has,
to hold the regrets of nothingness
and live fearlessly, carelessly
but perhaps naive thoughts they were,
clouded visions of the future it was.

During the days of
falling flat on mud and chasing bugs,
seemingly now, I tore a promise
by surrendering to remorse —
the decision of denying
the search of vocabulary
in every book read,

and if it weren’t for the sin of sloth
denying me the search of
a foreign word or two,
would my language be
adequate enough to speak these feelings to you.

now, however, I cannot read you a poem so good
for I can write none,
nor play you a song so tuned
for you’ve heard better,
nor write you a letter so accurate,
for my language cannot convey such –

such flame in my chest,
spreading as fast as forest fire
when the thought of you meets me
behind my troubled thoughts
you sweep, as heavy rain falls
on Amazon.

An irony you seem, not only in stance
nor speech, nor sound or sentences
formed from you,
rain and fire in one.

My hopes stand
on a thin string
in longing, that perhaps
by the few thousand words I know
a message would deliver,
through vague passages on a crumbled note
stained by squiggily lines
of an amature, of thoughts
as clouded
as this attempted poem.

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