There are words that we recall,
their promise fleeting,
veil, once lifted, vanished
as intent,
mercurial, they missed their capture,
meaning
lost in moments’ madness
though well-meant.
There are words we’ve never heard that speak
more truly,
caught in throats, in hearts,
that rarely vent,
carried in that meditation,
duly
transmitting more
than all sound ever spent.
There are times the nothing speaks
a thousand voices,
meanings pluralised,
sublimely sent,
demystified, these murmurs,
among noises,
drowning out, in muted,
letters lent.
There are words we sometimes wish
we’d never uttered,
some there are we wonder
why we heard,
as those that find their way,
in silence stuttered,
cross thresholds,
sublimating word for word.
scottishmomus 