Þis world ain’t so vast and different
From þose found in what’s written
             We write grand and tremendous of all þings
Þat we’ve imagined and delved deeply
              to try oh so potently tu give revealing
Yet when we look about and just see unobscured and clearly
       Unperceiving and wiðout þinking
             Giving þe world its chance to speak frankly
                   It’ll display tragic n pretty
                         for you n me þose þings most true
                                 Beyond suggestion ann interpreting
                                       Just simply incessant beauty
                                            in an unceasing locomotion

Extrovertism
or any other sibling
of it
doesn’t realise itself solely
through the mannerisms of
speaking,
choice of company,
activities or
similar antics.
It mainly possesses in
its hold our
mind as a way
of revealance,
as our
thoughts might cling
on it dependent,
in constant
shouting & fleeting
from Stillness,
our lone
presence
;
OR either have
‘em all ready
in conscious observation
questioning on
the inside in your
private voiceless,
conversation

to detach yourself
from others’
contact
.
it’s all,
felt sublime,
when the latter,
comes and makes,
itself a
difference
.

The waves roll around

in wild curls, however tight –


is the horizon.

Blue eyes, ever so mysterious
Sealed lips,  always hiding a secret,
Red hair,  a dash of love when you run away from truth.


Joy shining in your eyes, laugh lines ever present,
Laughs escaping your lips as if it costs you nothing,
Hair playing with the wind like children with no worries



Eyes downcast,  shying away or guilty?
Lips smiling from here, frowning from there,
Hair,  half done up,  half swaying in the wind.



So tell me darling,  what are you? An open book or a relic written in God's own language?

The window steams up,

and I read: I'm also there –


when you can't see it.