Within invisible
Walls of dreams,
To sketch a life
That otherwise
Might never be seen.
Glass words for you,
Beloved—
Rain beads
From an abacus of pain.
But as I often said,
The future
Is in our paintbrush;
Still want to know me?
Trace my scars—
In the Braille of my past
Find something to ask.
But, of course,
You can’t…
You don’t remember.
Feelings died—
That should have died
Hereafter;
With the dial tone
On the phone
You didn’t answer.
The only ones who can paint with words are writers; those who build worlds where we can escape, shelter us from storms, fears, escape from reality. Like wounds, the past leaves furrows in the skin and our hands when we touch them, like a blind man who reads, knows about the pain, about time, about all the suffering left by that fissure of flesh. The one who comes will have to accept the miseries and the scraps, and with that make someone better. But there are people who run away from fractured people, @johnjgeddes, and close the door and run away without saying goodbye. Nice night for you, poet.
there's some truth to the art of physiognomy - reading a person's character through their physical appearance. To a large extent we control our features through our life choices and experiences - but beyond our control are the scars left by others -and skillful people can interpret the braille of those scars to decipher the soul
Very well said, my estimated
Beautiful images adorn this poem. "Pint with words" and "words of glass" are beautiful metaphors. Words that break, that do not find a handle where to take shelter. It is a poem full of pain for an unrequited love that hurts in the soul. Beautiful creation, @johnjgeddes.
Thank you, @aurodivys - unrequited love atrophies the soul
I can hear your voice through this poem.
I love it ❤️
thank you
Words are the most sophisticated painters, they can paint your DNA
Through their paintings, one can decipher the fibers that link the past, the present and the future.
WORDS ARE GODS
this poem is Beautiful thanks