In Saying

Just words. That is what I'll speak when asked for a secret, or in breaking a promise. That's all I could hope to find in asking questions; what I'll have to articulate in asking it. I'm lost for words, just words, and when mouths are open, nothingness comes out. I've seen empty space meaning more than I can portray with words, just words, but imagine what could be done with consonants, vowels; small affirmations not built to be sturdy, steady, broken or lost.  Let's balance on syllables, conceive quotations still silent. I want definiteness; I practice speeches for causes as people. An apology for forgiveness; prayer for pride saved. A lecturing lot of chosen words to take selected enemy from where they are and slamming them into dirt or lower, covering them with shards, fragments of reality to cut and bruise. There are speeches to give off hope, pieces of uplifting clauses clumsily stuttered together; but biting bits of reality tangible and comforting. None of this is includes that which I'll say, or help to recite these constantly changing words that I can't locate to relay, pin down, seize sure hold of. Questions should only come from people wanting answers, and several uncertainties later, I'll put forth questions myself. I want the satisfaction of simple words to throw about, conviction, and certitude in saying just words

Give Me This

I want to bend with the flow of feeling, resist the rush of chaos I carry, and contour with the curves of the dark sky's floor. I'm going to wait until the tides of steep water carry away the rest of the crew, and I'll not break until there is no one, and no thing left for me to love and be for. I can wave in the winds wailing, wearing on us like the stones we stand as, but how can I sway and stay rooted, somber or on my own? Hand over a self, so as to build an us, a pair, a tango, turbulence and travesties as a set; a reason to be weathered by worry, resistance, banes of our short existence, or cold shoulders from these warm hearts.