How do the blind among us seeing
Stoic eyes wide mimicking awakenings

How can poetry be greatly felt
With words to shape more words don’t help.

How water is the shape of love
That we drown in its deeps, a hollow rain.

Hence fire is the shape of pain
It’s roaring loudly inside, outwardly howling

Heartbreak, explosions—concerning yowls!
The sounds of our emblazoned lives.

Thoughts : the shape of thunder, time.
Emotions we made to blame, then shades of

How, we only but admire,
With words to shape the soul’s attire.

We howling creatures brief,
What is the shape of words, belief —in

The End?