Reaching Out

14th April, '09

Those blasted words disappear again;
Again I wriggle my way through,
through vast alleys of garbled thoughts,
thoughts from which my poem will brew.

Brewing a mixture so very sweet-smelling,
sweet-smelling vapours in many a hue,
hues to kindle the countless senses,
senses of a scattered, pervious few.

Few minds can hear the music of words,
words that can add a meaning new,
new understandings of old matters,
matters from which new lives ensue.

Ensues a new hope and beginning,
beginnings that one loves to jump into,
into deep waters of promise and dreams,
dreams from which reality's imbued.

Imbued by this strange magic,
magic created by words askew,
askew, yet clear in their final purpose,
the purpose of creating an unusual commune.