Wisps of incoherence seek refuge in
empty caldrons
new and untainted
free of scratches and dents
absent the scaring of rusty thought
A canvas awaits
ideas to be absorbed in permanence
someone else’s ideas anchor
the canvas to hold them as truths
for its life cycle
Empty spaces filled and
new track laid with followers held
to pre-determined paths
windblown sands hide remnants
of those who escaped the yoke
Words… so many, yet so few.
Sometimes I cannot find
words that give full meaning
to that which I feel
forcing me to create new words
that have meaning only to myself…
I take solace in the fact that
some poems are just for me.
Sometimes unable to express
my feelings and emotions fully…
even those close to me would find
the center missing… the donut hole gone…
words lost in the batter
perhaps to make themselves understood
when they take new shape
as I write a new batch.
stevehallsbooks 