Over your notes.
A created image I've conjured.
I hold creased memories,
Soiled without your presence.
A face, a figure,
Someone I never fully knew,
Nor will I fully
Understand.
Through the aged rubble
Of your possessions,
I question:
Who are you?
How can I even know
or at least acknowledge
your existence if
I've never seen your true face.
I realize the intensity.
You live on worn backs and tempered souls.
Finding any reasonable explanation,
Or even just a note
Is impossible.
Peering into
Pages of your mind,
I philosophize on life.
Maybe we never really know
Who we are
Or who we will be.
Maybe,
Everyday of our
Meaningless existence
We seek truth, Answers.
For nothing.
Maybe,
Doing what we love is
All the solace
This world
Can ever
Offer us.
Maybe,
I never knew you because
I tried to embody
A memory.
A phantom in reflections
Whom I've never known.
Would I be let down?
To know your stories,
Forming truths within
Untwisted tongues.
Would we be closer
Or more distanced in Space?
Perhaps,
In time,
We can take down our
Masks
To really know
What is inside.
First of all I fking love that picture, perfect for this poem. Second of all let me tell you how excited I was to see these when I checked the site :).
ReplyDelete"To know your stories,
Forming truths within
Untwisted tongues."
These lines are exactly what I needed right now.
I really like how the color of the photo conflicts with the connotations of it and the tone of the poem, too. I can't stop rereading this. lol
ReplyDelete