These words I breathe-
a whispered caress,
from vocalized mind,
to awaiting parted lips-
They flow in quiet form,
upon linen-crisped pages,
yet unturned,
...yet unread.
Like an inhale of
exhaled thought,
they expel lightly,
on these winds of my changes-
Always drifting,
along errant breezes,
caught-up in clouds,
they drift into their formings.
Uttered in hushed silences
of a mind in repose-
life given to unborn conceptions,
the first cries of an inner child.
Spewed forth after birth,
these after-thoughts,
are at last given voice-
and hense, are heard.
Too-long having gone muted,
now to be viewed,
now to be admired-
a newborn creation.
These words I breathe-
akin to very first breaths,
an intense need to be voiced,
before I succumb this soul.