Archive
10/16/08 - (3)
Nothing I Say
Unless they meet me at least halfway, My words have no apparent or inherent meaning; Indeed, they're needless, useless, innocuous, irrelevant, Nothing more than a marriage of convenience Between my loose tongue and my airy cognitions — A monumental discord, From which arise the harpies of my imagination's ashes.
In the past, I believed that my colossal lexicon Could perform wonders, just by being at my ideas' beck, Responsive to my mind and pen-wielding fingertips, Able to translate my thoughts, fancies, notions Onto the notebook's waiting pages. Now, finally, I realize this disillusioning truth: Words have a life of their own; nothing I say matters.
10/16/08 - (3)
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