Words; the spittle of everyday chatter,
The symbols I form, from ink and tatter.
Discordant chords, with distinctive sound,
Detailed thoughts I cautiously expound.
Choirs of voices vivaciously converse,
While the writer invents time, verse by verse.
Thoughts are the art of abstract experience,
The systematic rhythm of intangible balance.
Wits enslaved by passionate reflection,
Distorting reality through ethereal creation.
Poem after poem, rhyme after rhyme,
Disassociates the self from the sublime.
Words are a mask, an implied identity,
Sentences shape an unsullied reality.
Enclosed within my fabricated world,
I hide behind each animated word.
Motionless memories mould my mind,
Thinking of the story ‘I’ left behind.
Author notes
This poem was recently published in an anthology of poetry...
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