Seep

A thousand times I've made myself Into an interprative lie A thousand times, a million words That never will quite die But in the truth, so continent Is nothing that cannot be bent Within these words, this plenitude Is nothing of an origin Within these lies, one bit of truth Is only found within a facet of interpretation And so we feel we know each other Through the words we read, twice writ But in all words, so many meanings Kill all hope of understanding it One word, one touch of mastery Finds greatness only in what's seen By those who are quite predisposed To look for life in words transposed Upon a page, so blank, so bare That all the soul must still be there Within that spot of black, inside the space Surrounded by its like. There's left no trace Of individuality within the frothing, dying sea of words once writ, twice faded, lost inside a sea of meaning, tost upon the shore of all that's seen by those who know what their own might-have-beens could mean to one who's never tried to understand, nor dared to try the hand of fate against a raging sea that took the form of fractured metaphor. The soul seeps through.