word to us speak
words cannot say
ancient fragments scattered
word in words embedded
craft by spirit and intuition moved
faint and fleeting echoes conjured
strange voices awakened soul
word unspeakable spoken

As my heart grew more enamored,
And as I felt this burning flame,
It was then I knew what mattered—
It was to give Beauty its name.

Her image would not go away,
But all the words I spoke would err,
So overcome I could not say
A description that suited her.

What should perfect Beauty be called?
There is no name that could suffice.
Overwhelmed I was too enthralled—
My language was too imprecise.

You simply are so beautiful,
That any name would be inapt.
Your Beauty makes my heart so full—
That I am speechlessly enrapt.

When your eyes
make your brain
smile

That...

i am the insanity painted across the walls.
the pestilence growing behind your teeth.
the walking contradiction.

together we are the red string, and i am the seamstress.

i tied us together during my tour of heaven;
after the angels revealed my fate
as a word prophet
sealing our fate.

Scattered thoughts to capture the
                     Ineffable emotion
              The lively colors
Of the temple
                         Within
Infinite
            Yet clothed in aging skin  
To speak of it seems
                                 Treacherous
A selfish desire to express its
                                 Fluidity
                               Eloquence
In the entanglement of these words
For when I have become shaken
May I visit upon these words
And indulge myself
For what it was
To be a
         Guest of
Divine omniscience

There is a kind of
silence
which is not
silence.

It is the gnashing
of teeth,
the obstructed
bowel movement.

Speech is an inducement
to polyphony.
But not the truth
behind a muffled cry.

In this, the shudder
of leaves
is more sincere
than all the wrack
heard at the county fair.

Tongue tied, my twisted eyes
Allow me to see the truth,

Yet my vocabulary evaporates
Whenever I see you.