And without the words to flow through
To fill the gaps,
How do I tell you,
Who am I?
How do you know
What I am made of?
That without words
I'm stranger than the unknown.
And nothing would suffice
The hunger that gnaws at me
That I couldn't give you leave
To call on me.
Without words to hold me
To tether me to the ground,
I fear the danger of floating away
Into the darkness.
Oh, but to sustain!
To thrive on the words;
To let them shape me
To let them breathe life into me.
Would you then understand?
To give you my words
Is like giving a piece of me.
YOU ARE READING
Pieces Of Me
PoetryTo be rich in words, to let them accumulate and know that you'll never be wanting of anything else. It's a meagre attempt to highlight how much words mean.
