My words are as dust in this world
Caught up in a dust devil
Drifting, shining, in silent patches of sunshine
Caught in the eye of a passerby

My eyes glinting orbs staring out from a bronze shell
Metal to keep the grasping hands of the world out
Metal to keep what's left of my soul in
Sometimes I wonder if I am even alive at all

So here in my shell of isolation
In this quiet and sanctified place
I shall spin my words like webs
And speak to the silence of a certain Grace

The act of weaving emotion
Spinning the chords of the heart
Like threads across the loom of the spoken word
Crafting and stitching together and doing my own minute part

Plucking a snowflake from the thick frigid air
Taking that perfect crystal idea and holding it
Trying to memorize its every shape and contour
Before it slips into that haze of forgotten memory

To speak the meaning instead of the words
To say more that what is simply heard
Connecting the spoken word to the soul
Adding to the fire of reality my own special coal

And yet I see my words fall through this world
Fleeting whispers among the teeming masses
Pearls fall from metal hands to crack upon the floor
As a bronze statue sits in the corner collecting dust

04/27/2005
2:02 am