Starting at the board tainted black,
Colored in words of knowledge I lack.
Each hour claims a new face,
Sometimes repeating, at times thrown off base.
Their lips move, throwing words across the room,
While my mind still stuck in a place lowly loomed
Some absorb the reflection of the projector,
Like a honeysucker does nectar.
While other struggle to keep balanced their sector.
It's not words, but their intend and eyes that speak,
If taken by themselves are mighty oblique.
We falter and with our mind we fight,
Some do days, other are up all night.
But in the end what is it that really counts?
Is it the words that describe knowledge,
Or the interpretation we found?
YOU ARE READING
Kaleidoscope
Poetry'A poem is a poets way to convey a big message with little words' This is a kaleidoscope of emotions transformed into poetry, each telling a different story. It makes you want to look at things from a different point of view. In a world so busy wher...
