Words just escape me, they used to freely flow,
but now it's like reaching for words-I don't know.
They have the power to hurt, harm or heal,
but none seem to bring out my mind full of zeal.
Words and their power come ripe to each season,
some describe landscape and some have no reason.
Some fill my mind with joy and escape
while others just hang waiting for the right shape.
Speaking of shape, words create atmosphere,
while others bend thoughts outside to inside here.
All I can muster are a few random drops...
words...they're just words...and here's where it stops.
To get back in step with the words we write.
ReplyDeleteWe find who we are through others without sight.
Be all you are without others looking on.
Our truest self is when we have the audience of one.