I'll get it right some day.

Echang

Gechan

Ngecha

Angech

Hangec

Change

Edited Words

Ahh!!!
we sigh or cry.
But why?
Is it because there should be a strain
Created and continued through mundane conversations that flow through our brain?
That should have made us feel a sort of dull pain?
Something too hard to explain?
Something that we've come to expect?
Like the feeling of a headache over and over again that we try to neglect?....
Instinctively....
It's not hard to sustain.
Easier to follow than the grains of time-
Easier to keep than a good frame of mind.
And mind you.......
This can be hard to find and feel
Like swallowing shards of glass
As they pass through your mouth.
Or .....
As they go south....
When they come in.
......
They may hurt.
Sometimes from their beauty,
Others.....
from their sadness.
But they make us-
Comfort us-
Bless us-
And condemn us.
They mean no real harm.
It's not their fault,
The order in which they are arranged-
Is the blame.....
Of those that speak it.
..........
Continue talking-
walking with your words.
Falling on deaf ears that may have never really heard.
Or maybe......
That hear too much......
Some have been suggesting
That silence too can be deafening.
.........
Such as birds that sing and swing from tree to tree.
Passing right above me.
But not the me that is I.
The me that is truly...... "we."
"We" are the constructions created
By those that are still to come
And by those that "we" came from.
......
These thoughts,
Are they:
Heavenly sent?
Or just hell bent on surviving?-
Reviving when they're about to die.
Like so many conversations with strangers that turn to meaningless babble.
Random, linking words
Like so many pointless games of Scrabble.....
Not really directed at you or me.
Just words that flow free.
Free from anything inside.
Perhaps trying to hide
Or Pass undetected.
And not directly directed or connected
To or in....
Time or place.
Making them nearly impossible to chase before they die....
If they ever do.
And If
They ever get that chance.
......
Oh God why?
Why are they so often resurrected when they thought they found peace
On the cold- dark- concrete of the streets-
Trampled by pedestrians feets.....
Never hurt by the weight
But hurt only through indifference
Thrown about like a rag doll,
And greeted with no more compassion
Than one gives to a found object in the gutter.....
Setting the stage for future thoughts.
It's hard to find the frames of mind
That in time may come to see.
Of what it truly means to "be."
And what it is to be "we".......