Words

Words cannot begin to describe who you are My mind is so limited and self-absorbed In fact, I mustn’t know anything of you at all We can observe each other and depict patterns We can predict each other’s faults and value We can say we can figure out one another But all we know of really is ourselves I know that you are a kind person From what I see, you are perfect I fear that my self-absorbed opinion of you Is altogether wrong I fear that everything I think of you Is a lie—an ignorant assumption of you Within billions a thought is traced within the light Not nearly brushing against insight I don’t believe I ever really knew you Through these blank words and verses All I know is myself Though I often fear. . . That that in itself is the lie That I am the lie For all I’ve ever known, There is a word we can each describe of us