I hear many emotions disguised as words
These spoken feeling are dried then stuffed
all their glorious masculinity, now compacted
and their complexity is now rather compressed
emotions grinded into flat and blank thoughts
Sometimes i don't believe in words,
The way force themselves in and out .
For they falter when trying to explain colors,
Shades and tones always lack proper description.
Rarely do words capture that exact bend in light.
Nor that exact bend of your long neck,
foreign sensations my fingers once knew.
Words lack terms for the roughness of your face,
lack measurements for the smoothness of your lips.
And paragraphs won’t explain the feeling in my chest.
Nor can they explain the hollowness within my heart
When I could tell no one the secrets of my grief.
Only so many words can be used in a dying breath,
And Last words are usually much later said.
what did she wish to tell us on her death bed?
Nor can words covey those underlying emotions,
who tend to not speak too well for themselves
See, feelings tend to simply mumble and stumble
By sending mixed signals and double meaning
They ramble until the phrase is finally complete
But it is said that words are like a dusty window
They are like a man’s beloved yet cracked spyglass
Although words appear to be not quite clear,
And often find themselves fumbling desperately to be heard
They offer a outlet for our souls, otherwise left unspoken.
Jun 6, 2012
Jun 6, 2012 at 12:16 PM UTC
I hear many emotions disguised as words
These spoken feeling are dried then stuffed
all their glorious masculinity, now compacted
and their complexity is now rather compressed
emotions grinded into flat and blank thoughts
Sometimes i don't believe in words,
The way force themselves in and out .
For they falter when trying to explain colors,
Shades and tones always lack proper description.
Rarely do words capture that exact bend in light.
Nor that exact bend of your long neck,
foreign sensations my fingers once knew.
Words lack terms for the roughness of your face,
lack measurements for the smoothness of your lips.
And paragraphs won’t explain the feeling in my chest.
Nor can they explain the hollowness within my heart
When I could tell no one the secrets of my grief.
Only so many words can be used in a dying breath,
And Last words are usually much later said.
what did she wish to tell us on her death bed?
Nor can words covey those underlying emotions,
who tend to not speak too well for themselves
See, feelings tend to simply mumble and stumble
By sending mixed signals and double meaning
They ramble until the phrase is finally complete
But it is said that words are like a dusty window
They are like a man’s beloved yet cracked spyglass
Although words appear to be not quite clear,
And often find themselves fumbling desperately to be heard
They offer a outlet for our souls, otherwise left unspoken.
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