I am the words here, written in pen.
I am words you hear recited in your head.
I am this and that at the same time.
I am a hundred hammers making a rhyme.
The shout that never raises its voice.
The scream that cannot contend with all of the white noise.
The immobile rock that will not hear a sound.
The never ending ticking of a clock counting down.
I am measured in madness.
I am forgotten before found.
I am hope, hopeful, hopeless, hopelessness.
I am a square that is round.
The challenge put before us all.
The sharpened pencil, ready to draw.
The countless times someone was kind.
The ugly bat, not deaf, but blind
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 1:06 AM UTC
I am the words here, written in pen.
I am words you hear recited in your head.
I am this and that at the same time.
I am a hundred hammers making a rhyme.
The shout that never raises its voice.
The scream that cannot contend with all of the white noise.
The immobile rock that will not hear a sound.
The never ending ticking of a clock counting down.
I am measured in madness.
I am forgotten before found.
I am hope, hopeful, hopeless, hopelessness.
I am a square that is round.
The challenge put before us all.
The sharpened pencil, ready to draw.
The countless times someone was kind.
The ugly bat, not deaf, but blind
