(no subject)
in our beginnings
we had spoken words
most of them vain
but even the vain ones meant
in some small way
until the days grew warm
and buds crept up
and it was hard to explain
that every word written to her
was not about her
and every word about her
was not always for her
and there was a chill
still creeping
though imperceptibly small
beneath the roots of the trees
and the warm breeze chased it deep
into the earths dark chest,
the heaving breast letting out sighs
and groans to let us know
the time was quickening
and as the night air slowed
and thickened from spring into summer's heat
as i sought to meet and not to meet
and as i ever sought to be at peace
the words slipped around
on sheets and on tongues
licking themselves into
the corners of our minds
blinding us and finding out
our weaknesses buried,
deep beneath the unhurried silence
the patient words staying
but only for a moment
(though each moment held eternity)
just long enough to be a catalyst
for further and future silence
and we will weather these words
listening
to silences breaking
between the static buzz of jazz
and words spoken slowly
with a melismatic undertone,
giving rise to the decadence of the perpetual today,
but the silence will break and all these words will fly away,
and our minds will be left empty and heaving
gasping for words to fill the void
something, anything to alleviate the pain
of truth unmitigated and faith displayed.
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l.l