It’s a different kind of day and era, that shacks you as you sleep, rustling the soul, and then your awaken, looking through eyes that try peering into a not so lite room and noticing your alone. Charitable feelings run amuck in the first reverie of the new, as you take in the dawning fluids of the day. Then you sit down in front of a social canopy, feeling safe, unaware that you’re fixing to start reading through thoughts, looking through minds you do not know. Maybe you start feeling a little inspired, a little sad, or the verbal pleasantries that flows from someone’s vocabulary, making your conclusions, reading between the lines, just hoping, trying to see the feelings and if they’re meant for you. Then there’s this thing that sets us apart from everything else, some say it’s a mastermind of poetic rules, leaving your mark on the world. Looking to be remarked, I guess that’s all that anybody wants, to be seen, to be noticed, to be special in a rhapsodic sort of way and whatnot, stock piling all the pleasure centers of one’s mind. Then you begin to cradle this moment, closing your eyes one more time; taking in every word, loving the flow of each definition, placing them on your alter and believing that these words aren’t meant for another, knowing in your heart, touching your soul, that the words they write are for you, not in any common phrase or lyric with your name, but a poem, a poem that won’t speak of your name; but speaks to your mind and soul, telling you they care, knowing by a smile; one word at a time that you are special. ~ © Michael Jones
Posted on: Sat, 24 Aug 2013 11:09:45 +0000