Sohbet – There Are No Words

“A pen tried to write the word LOVE and it broke”

There are no words for this
And still my mind reaches out
tries to grasp
tries to express
Stretched thin in its desperation
Like travelling at light speed
the past and future pulled apart
Lost in the space between
There are no words for this
There is nothing here…
…and everything
Both at once

5 thoughts on “Sohbet – There Are No Words

  1. a pen tried to write the word HATE
    and fell hopelessly in love
    thus charmed it knew
    that love and hate
    complement in an open heart
    and it overcame it’s fear
    and was free to choose
    to write a new
    and more hopeful story


  2. a pen tried to write a word.
    the page remained blank
    as the pen hovered.

    thoughts floated like threads,
    words were woven
    into a tapestry of story.

    and passed through the mind
    through the heart
    through the hand
    and into the pen

    flowing onto the paper
    words of hate and love
    phrases of sorrow and joy
    of everything
    of nothing
    of life


  3. A pen tried to write beauty

    then paused . . .

    monochromatic me?
    straight sided and plastic . . .
    what do I know of it?
    half full of ink
    a bic with a fine roller tip
    yet here it is nonetheless
    a pen with the word in it’s head
    faultless in ability
    yet better unwritten
    straight, fine, half full
    ‘nough said.


    1. half full
      half empty
      halfway in between
      nowhere really
      letting go of one life
      hands free to reach out for another
      groping in the dark

      half full
      half grown
      feeling way too old for this shit
      growing pains and grey hairs
      does it ever get any easier?


  4. The pen is spent,
    the ink has flowed
    and dried, arrived
    upon crisp grey pages.

    These are the wages
    for which we strive
    until we’re old
    and heaven sent.

    Words which once were pent
    up in the core, not to be told
    could not be contained inside
    and burst from their dreary cages.

    The intervening years have taken tales from all our ages
    and twisted the history and the lessons they confide
    so much we no longer recognize the stories shared and truths they hold
    and perhaps we have lost touch with what the very words meant.

    The price is paid,
    the cost is to pay again.


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