while I listen with my good ear.
I'll write you the poem
that you've always wanted to hear.
The words aren't mine.
They aren't even real.
Stolen, mangled
and lacking all appeal.
Then they are just letters
that shift into lines.
Broken and scattered
leaving nothing behind.
You'll sing on,
but I can not be sweet.
My good ears are gone.
I'll glady give up my seat.
Now here I am.
Just as the words, the letters,
and the lines.
Fragmented deep down
like space and time.
This is where we are
and I know what I need to be.
Just the strange girl
that I never wanted you to see.
Did you write this?
ReplyDeleteyeah. why?
ReplyDeleteI think I get it.
ReplyDelete