Where do the words come from
That express
my life
My hope
The essence
of me
That my soul
spits out
Not sensible
but making
oh so much
sense
Regrets
Maybe
Not so much
as joy and
Fleeting
moments of happiness
Wrapped up in
relationships and
Memories and
I don't want
my life to be over
I want to
live for the now
And for the
future
And I want my
words to flow
To tell
stories of my existence
To dump the
essence of my soul
With reckless
abandon
Where do the
words go
When they
leave my mind
Do they
frolic and
Dance
And cavort
with intent
So that a
piece of me
Makes oh so
much
Words. May the connect and heal us.
ReplyDeleteSandy, thank you for reading and commenting.
DeleteI love it, Denise. Your poet's search for the source of his words and tales of course is from deep within, his soul. You tell it very nicely.
ReplyDeleteIt did remind me of a similar poem that I wrote connecting the soul, tongue, and roots within
("...
Giving of what's within me is my goal.
Those body parts three all work together,
my soul, my tongue, the roots down deep.
..."):
Forgive me if I ramble.
I did give more emphasis to the constant tongue than its source of info, the soul.
..
Jim, I'm glad you enjoyed this, and I'm particularly glad it reminded you of something you wrote. Thanks for reading and commenting.
DeleteOH YES, It makes such a lot of sense. I feel like this often too!
ReplyDeleteHi, thank you for reading. I appreciate your comments. I am glad it made sense.
Delete