Words
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
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