These Words Poem
May 6, 2012

It's these words I just don't understand.
Whether I write them, recite them, or strategically place them in some plan.
Words come together, and they seem to make sense.
But these words I write are light, while in my mind, they feel dense.

There needs to be something more to these words,
than a pen, paper, and my fingertips' push forwards.
In order for these words to be present full force.
So I won't have to settle for this mind to material divorce.

I throw more words out to test,
but keep losing my best,
in an attempt to show the world what these words really mean.
So that somebody else can finally see what I've seen.

At long last, when my words ceased to come out,
I said nothing, suffering from the drought.
Suddenly a thought struck me; a single word stood out the most.
The word thought was more important than these words, for it was their host.

These words weren't meant to describe a thought.
Their meaning wasn't something that could be taught.
For these words are designed for a thought's deliverance.
But are only a small part of the thought's whole experience.