WATCHING WORDS

I am sitting, quietly, watching. The quiet documenter of others lives. I see their lips move the moments in their seemingly interesting fulfilled lives pass away as they talk.

And slowly I sober up. I pull away from the warmth and dulling consistency of their words, the moving harmonies of their throaty supplications. They talk the million voices, like passing gales of icy winds locking me out. They gush in their eagerness, these words enjoining souls, mirroring feelings, breaking and mending hearts, a salve for all ills... These words. They cloak their meanings in the murky depths in between shrouded sentences.

Trains of words put together going somewhere and yet leading nowhere.

And I sit quietly and listen. Until words are expected to leave my mouth. And yet my words seem so discordant so out of place 4/4 in 2/4 time ta-ta-ta-ta-, tate-tate or something like that. Not in synch.

I wanted noise today. I craved these voices, their subtle nuances, their broad proclamations. I needed them. I needed echoes to fill my silences. I searched for harmonies to match my music, prayed for supplications and found them in the words' hopes, fears and dreams.

I stole from the words, stole their strength, undressed their owners, bared their souls with the power the words gave me.

I smile and put my pen down, words again, silently spoken reaching from abroad and getting used, exalted, worshipped, feared, adored. And those that wield them, use them, carve unwittingly into sculptures of the bound variety. I see them watching silently, listening as the words slowly find their way back to them.