Things Unspoken
Sometimes ants crawl out of my mouth
Carrying the things that are dear to me
And I am left unable to speak
Sometimes I walk into the yard
Hearing the chimes chime and dance
To an awaking sun
Sometimes I lie naked on my back
Letting my lover write verses on my stomach
Love poems made of anise and honey
Sometimes I dream in hazy blue
Of raspberry fields and youth lagoons
And there is a pen when I wake
At my bed side, waiting to be pressed
To create and recreate as it deems necessary
Sometimes the pen sings
And there are those who do not understand its meaning
Sometimes it does not enunciate
And only whispers quietly to those who are near
Like the ants who crawl out of my mouth
Carrying the things that are dear to me
Sometimes I cannot speak, my voice a fading memory
But the pen is always there when I wake
Waiting to be pressed
To create or recreate as I deem necessary
To perform an opera of things unspoken