Ramblings and Paintings of a Mystic Wanderer

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His Words

Somewhere…. between the layers of himself…. His words wait to astonish.

They simmer in memory …ferment in passion…. past remembering.

They wait for the hook of feeling.

Snapping for the bait of airing a sentiment…

or…sleeping lightly in a brew of ..long ago.

Those words stir at sounds of sighs…

……tremble at the could have been…. was… and, skinny maybe.

They dance in fingers of storytelling.

Those words…ripple to the page like children,

 … playing hide and seek.

They tumble out … no restraint,

because… they cannot help themselves.

They want to …need to… see the light of day…

this day or that day …it does not matter……………….. and every time!

Those words are read…they take away….. Her air of breath.

They astonish…they force a silence….. in Her heart…….they….

Hover in the air…without sound…they travelled far.

Those words bury themselves inside… Her soul.

 

And there She keeps them… no reason… other than…. they are HIS.

 

Posted February 16, 2012 by oshum