Blocks of letters are placed carefully, one adjacent to the other,
To construct a word like one does on a scrabble board.
No, you don’t stop there.
You hop on, emptying sandbags, converting them to blank-spaces Moving along to the next word,
Starting from scratch
Only with the additional constraints
The previous word’s meaning, tense and grammar.
This recursive process goes on,
And you rectify every teeny tiny error
That may be buried somewhere.
You do this in a jiffy and you reach that point in the game
Where you show something you’ve conjured out of nowhere,
To the person standing next to you.
But no, you can’t do that as new walls emerge out of nowhere Squeezing your lips tighter than ever, severing every limb,
******* the life out of what you just created.
Some words slither their way out
Trying to stretch your lips, roll your tongue
But they were born seconds ago
You’ve asked too much from them already.
Soon, the only remains are chopped words and mutilated letters
And most of the times even worse- nothing.
They become your sheepish grins, shivering hands, angry expletives, Fervent nods and deadpan ****** expressions.
Sentences die, and the words go unspoken.
Words which are spoken, are in the sounds of silence.
Those unspoken words are powerful.
They construct ***** with an infinite capacity
That never lets your tears out of your eyes,
Your fears out of the brain, and
Your sears out of the heart.
They mean nothing to the audience, and they mean everything to you. The things you could say, the things you would love to say, and yet, what did you actually say? More precisely, what didn’t you say?
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 10:37 AM UTC
Blocks of letters are placed carefully, one adjacent to the other,
To construct a word like one does on a scrabble board.
No, you don’t stop there.
You hop on, emptying sandbags, converting them to blank-spaces Moving along to the next word,
Starting from scratch
Only with the additional constraints
The previous word’s meaning, tense and grammar.
This recursive process goes on,
And you rectify every teeny tiny error
That may be buried somewhere.
You do this in a jiffy and you reach that point in the game
Where you show something you’ve conjured out of nowhere,
To the person standing next to you.
But no, you can’t do that as new walls emerge out of nowhere Squeezing your lips tighter than ever, severing every limb,
******* the life out of what you just created.
Some words slither their way out
Trying to stretch your lips, roll your tongue
But they were born seconds ago
You’ve asked too much from them already.
Soon, the only remains are chopped words and mutilated letters
And most of the times even worse- nothing.
They become your sheepish grins, shivering hands, angry expletives, Fervent nods and deadpan ****** expressions.
Sentences die, and the words go unspoken.
Words which are spoken, are in the sounds of silence.
Those unspoken words are powerful.
They construct ***** with an infinite capacity
That never lets your tears out of your eyes,
Your fears out of the brain, and
Your sears out of the heart.
They mean nothing to the audience, and they mean everything to you. The things you could say, the things you would love to say, and yet, what did you actually say? More precisely, what didn’t you say?
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