Words Come And Go- a poem

Words come and go.

Wandering from my mouth into thin, blue air, like a curlicue of smoke rising from a smoldering cigarette, they dissipate.

I knit them in my brain,

giving them significance as I utter them into the world,

hoping their birth means something.

But they are just many, so many of trillions, that no matter how I string them together,

they lose their strength and my pearls of wisdom break,

clattering pieces across the floor.

I gather them up, feeling if perhaps someone had read them, they might be of value.

And I begin again, searching for the true meaning, the written path that will illuminate

my way.

I gather words on a spring day, I gather words in my bag.

I straddle the horse and gallop off to the unknown, sure that who I find will be happy

upon my arrival;

He has been waiting for my words. He grins, slapping his knee at my stories.

I tell more until I have him rolling across the floor.

My words have found a home, a place to warm and delight,

in the belly of the man.

Words come and go, but these stay.


About Victoria Yeary

Author Writer
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