Words are the Soul Flesh

There is a swarm

of the expressionless monotonies

which resound

off the bleeding walls and pierce through

Your soul

writes all it wishes to convey

on these beaten, chipped, and tattered walls

It longs to burn through

scorch by scorch, run it through the flesh

to pierce the outside

to make them understand

Your desire to scrape

to the bottom of their soul and wash

all that you have lost

in the substanceless beauty to fit the order of the world

and its sameness

will choose words at the surface

that may never reach yours

which I string together now

engulfed in evanescent hope to touch you

with my bruised and hollow bones

Where the aches are housed that twinge

to prod the branches of the vine to swallow

In the dwelling of another

I find my words enveloped in their care

deeply wound around the chained wish

to say

to stay

but pardon the mess

of the poetry that runs

Deep and wide describes the connections

forged in the expression of this art

is a flooding rush

of the human spirit

of yours into mine

Own

the soul you've been given

but poetry's intrinsic nature invades

to engrave the mind

Where the matter is gray

to be brightened with flourishes

of words

through means of poetry

I have fallen in love

With the mystery of catharsis

I unveiled my ever buried enigma

to eternally work for the internal treasure

to be bound

to human spirits' external treasures

through poetry's flesh.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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