Dear words,
your trove is rich
and overflowing
with yummy sounds
shinning with
deep meaning.
but dear words,
my dancing mind
and gypsy heart
wonder lost in
dimensions unheard by you
and I find your
treasures
very weak, like
broken crutches —
incapable, insufficient
in supporting
my wobbly grasp
of the magical
expressions
within everything,
but your
riches are
also the only
air the lungs of
my human
experience
can inhale to
stutter through
all mystery
speaking to me.
Dearest words,
you are the
imperfectly perfect ally
to make seen the
unspoken language
of consciousness.
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Thumbnail Photo by Patrick Tomasso on Unsplash