A Meeting of Minds

12/26/2020

When you read my words can you read my lips?

Can you envision the breath in which I spoke them and wrote them?

What is a poem and what makes it good: to use rhyme, simile, or leave it at all?

Call it a rhythm, call it a tempo, call it whatever you see it to be.

But have you truly read my words; have you felt the inner walls of my mind?

So often I have read the words of men who have long been gone,

And I wonder, "Is this what they meant by their words?",

Or am I stuck within the trappings of my own mind:

Caged in the culture of my own time?

What did they mean, what was their message,

What did they feel in the depths of their words?

I wonder how much we add to what they truly meant.

What is their's, what is ours,

And what comprises the meeting of minds?

Feel my words ripple through your mind

And through your afterthought.

Is this what it feels like to encompass the writer of ancient words?

Is this what you feel when you delve into my written chaos:

Words strewn from the darkest crevices and furthest memories of my mind?

Feel my love, feel my hate,

And know me for the things I have written but never would have said.