Wednesday, November 11

#48 The Spaces Where Drama Exists Part I


courtesy Local Guy





Your sentences

were laid straight

their letters erect in design

they formed

a concise response

and never left

the logic

to which they were confined.

Yet,

after leaving

the realms of thought

from which

neuronal movements were lit

they bounced  off your tongue

into a sealed wall

that deflected

the deciphering

of their value

to the one

who held in their grasp

the power of the

interpretative gift.

Not to be outdone,

you tried once again

this time,

you arranged your thought

structured, worded soldiers

and formed a new approach

another design.

There had to be a way

to get past this intrusive barrier

and with tactical calculations done

before one tenth of a millisecond

airy turbines spun off your tongue,

this jet of sentences was to be released

and you prepared your lips to carry her.

Reasonably guided to fly over an

unexplored terrain

you took an offensive position

faced in a

refreshingly different direction,

and with careful calm took aim.

But…alas

‘twas not to be

for another wall appeared

electrified steel,

latticed by thick wires

rebounding your hopeful intentions

just as you had feared.

And your words…

they disintegrated

into spiked teardrops of heat,

your letters dissipated before they

fell,

and mere nothingness was left

at your feet.

Learning to withstand this awkward hell

prompted

your silence to casually thrive

thus becoming an observer

in this battle between the

necessity to be relieved

of pride’s torture

and the compulsive need to be right.

In becoming mute

you found your voice,

as you discerned that it was not yourself

who was lost in a treacherous cage,

who was wounded by

some repressed shrapnel;

and though,

the bombs dropped indignantly overhead

and the missiles

continued to rage

you knew you couldn’t do a thing

and this epiphany was

frustratingly relaxing

even though it had come a bit late…

for it wasn’t your tone

or your words

it wasn’t your intent

or your gestures

it was all about defences

that had been engaged for so long

that its attacks

were its only means of

communication

and this was no fault of yours

but had everything to do with

decaying layers

of trust that held on

their insides iced

pockets of despair and anger,

rising tall from within

the mind

stacked high,

exasperation overflowing

till all that was left

were these steely, sealed walls

that formed

the space

of misunderstanding.





My Inspiration: The Human Condition
 




© KohylahPiper 2015

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