They fall like seeds to the wayside of living
Or drift like leaves on a half-written sigh…
Darling, we all need someone to talk to
Word fills the oceans between you and I
They speak our stories; unborn desire
Trembles in font of relinquished turmoil
Somehow the midnight evokes a rare nuance
Lost in the shuffle of mid-morning moil
Mind-scripted manna and silver sun-sparkle
Captured, then molded to shape our thought
Ink-flavored morsels of loving and longing
Keening the tresses of what yet is not...
Quick little creatures; might fills their meek bearing
Wafting ‘cross miles with the click of a key
Sealed on a stage between covers of parchment
Painting those pictures only thought can see
They fill our diaries and journals; our passion
Ever the hunter for word’s perfect ploy
Finger-tip fragments of heart-soul expression
Spilling in sonnets of sorrow or joy
Darling, without them we simply have kisses
Kisses grow cold when our lips cannot touch
Word, lovely word fills the ocean between us
Shaping the echo of whispers and such…
© Janet~
Sigh........
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