We let our words sit.
Teetering
on the edge
of a precipice.
One forceful outward exhale
and they will slip.
But we need to be sure
that what we want to say,
is what we
need
to say.
That letting
those words strip
back the blinds,
Won't open
the windows to a blustery day.
So, we hold them back,
just enough that we can see
the ocean spray,
but far enough away
to stop the breeze
from carrying them
into the waves.
We let our
words stand.
Alone. Withstanding
gale force winds.
As we ourselves edge
gingerly inlands.
Scared of the ocean swells
that could befall
once these words have fell.
We let our words sway
on the brink, one slip
and they will sink.
To unleash a flood
that will submerge everything,
and then we will be left
alone once again.
Floating on driftwood
with nothing to say.
So, we hold them back.
Always holding back.
Now too many letters
filling up too many
sentence backpacks.
Too many words straddling
the lines of our notepads.
Whilst lining up even more to join in.
We can't stop these taps from pouring.
We let our words seep out gently,
mere trickles at a time.
If you read intently
You may be able to join the lines,
see the dots being connected.
Our collective thoughts imitating dust.
To hide away thoughts
that could push,
our words over that precipice,
and unleash a flood
of pain to wash over us.
Thanks for reading
Follow this link for more.
https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff
You can find my New books
"Tales from the 44A" and "Stations
here
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0DBKXPN13/
and here
continue to do this.
Peace, Love & Poetry
Kyle
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