Brief (Almost) Midnight Poem

Your Voice Is Like Music I Can't Live Without
Your words live inside echoes, like reverberations of truth.
I strain my ears to listen, but I catch only fragments,
these jagged half-shells of sentences
that cut up my hands and make me bleed.

Meanwhile my words are strangled by telephone wires,
warped by second thoughts and forget-me-not.
This dissonant language of longing,
made up of words that exist only in shadows and thought.

I know that your voice is nothing more
than the strumming of air, just vibrations
without rhythm or rhyme, no meaning.
But somehow your voice is like music I can't live without

0 comment(s):