WORDS BETWEEN US
Date: Saturday, 2nd May 2015 @ 03:26:33 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry
Contributed By: softerware
If we stood on the same hill and watched the same sky;
You’d see it differently, and so would I!
Paint the same color; play the same sound;
But the shared point of reference is not to be found!
Whatever we think and feel and believe;
Colors the tangible things we perceive;
Some hear an organ and think of the dead;
Some think of baseball or ice rinks instead!
One fears the dark, while one finds it calm.
That which we dread is another man’s balm.
Bells signal weddings, or schools out, or sleighs!
Answer the door, or the horses away!
Red can mean passion, or bullfights, or STOP!
Whistles mean halftime, (or here come the cops)!
Talk about knitting and I see a sweater;
The nurse sees a bone that soon will be better.
Mention a ball, some think of a chain!
Ping pong, cotillions, or Lucy’s last name!
(William Tell’s overture never looked stranger;
Than Carnegie Hall thinking of the Lone Ranger)!
We’re victims of thoughts that are wholly unique;
And seldom envision what others bespeak!
A boot is a shoe, or a toss from a bar;
“As well as” they tell me, the trunk of a car!
Swell can be happy, or wealthy, or swollen!
Nicked says it’s cut or the darn things been stolen!
Draw! Is it art; or a straw that you grasp?
A gun, or a tie, or a deep canyon pass?
Meanings refract on slender perceptions;
Taking us all in different directions!
Bound to defend our view of that sky;
“Who knows it better” we all say “than I!”
Words are uncertain as this little rhyme!
Yet we go into shock almost every time;
That we’re certain our meaning is well understood;
But it WASN’T --- so how do we try to make good?
Some say it louder, or say it again!
Repeat it much slower, or put it to pen!
But it’s not in the telling that meaning is found;
(The louder I speak, the less I make sound).
The longer I talk, the less I am heard;
The stronger my passion, the less you are stirred.
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The truth can be found, if we’re up for the task!
It lies in between us, disguised to the last;
Awaiting a space where it’ s safe to unmask!
l
This poem is Copyright © softerware
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