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Resonance

Do I believe
that everyone in the world
is a master of language,

that you are waiting
for the one word
to send you falling up
from the earth,
gravity forgotten.

Or do I believe
that my words are
less than the time
it takes to form them,

that my ink is wasted
my pen is tired
my paper put to poor use.

I see you waiting,
your head askew,
your hand pausing
in anticipation,
its gravity forgotten.


So I haven't written in a while and this poem is kind of crappy.  So sorry, have a pretty picture instead.

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