those were tall, unsaid words.
they had mood
that crept out and looked down
into all the vacancies near by
until filled with stark voiceless-ness.
but yet couldn’t say it back to myself
directly either.
couldn’t translate any of this clearly,
yet it gave me a steep of sidedness,
as if broken colored-glasses to see through,
twisted and calling out in half-thought views.
as puzzling as this is and ever fast approaching,
it was as if a surround without edges
to start up assembly towards solutions with.
at first, any conclusion my ‘inwardly’ stated
cannot be true,
to turn and face me now.
you, as the unspoken one,
can’t be the forest behind the bland of trees I see,
with those muted song-fest lyrics
that frozen eyes say back into the face of winter
by looking inexplicably far way.
these are somewhat suspended stills that exist here
as the presence made of broken melodies
that in parts and pieces silently mumble to say,
yet, in those far-off grounded ways,
that look back upon the unintended privacies of me.
I am not wearing a checklist as my apron of order.
my critical mind has fallen into the language trap.
there is no safety with words
in any of my crossing-guard assumptions made.
but I do have a grip on my free-fall,
by tears building, coming from deep and afar.
remembering clearly that emotions have wings
and I am in the wings of the windswept.
even as if embraced
yet having no mind
to give me mountain or branch of safety.
however distant and vast you are,
I look out at you
as if looking far within to real eyes.
we are more then the shatter
from these episodes of stone against stone
that express for us.
grind has this life of its own.
but we have the common of soul,
yet feeling for that,
the tall of unsaid words
only has its self-privacy in silence,
to speak of . . .
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