Do you see the breathing soul, beyond my words?
(Do I see yours?)
Do you sense my aura only (or not at all)?
glimpse if I am gentle, happy, clever, angry
or do my words stop on the page
revealing merely
words?
Do you see a lonely child, beyond my words?
lost and dreaming in jungles of eucalypts
drowned in the anonymity of bustling city streets
a little girl who doesn’t understood
why people grow old and die and leave you
weeps, craves her mothers arms
always
Do you see the painful secrets, beyond my words?
the past mistakes,
the writhing, sorry mess of
wild disloyal endeavours,
unfulfilled dreams
words that never emerge
bleeding backyard addictions
Do you see the compassionate core, beyond my words?
a strange woman placing roses on forgotten graves
saddened, touched by mans’ inhumanity to fellow man
a tear in the eye always for Diana
and Marilyn
and JFK
and tsunami victims…
You may see the breathing soul when I write with truth?
without inhibition, naked, flung to you from my depths
but beware
sometimes I lie!
the words come from somewhere
other than my heart
I pluck them mercilessly from imagination’s endless realms
paint them lighter, brighter, darker, deeper
than my reality
(or do I?)
Forever and never,
beyond my words.
Email this story 
Print Story 
Add to reading list
