Paradigms of Passion
I could tell you the tale
of the philologist who
dreamed of his death
in rhetoric.
I could tell you that words
become symbols to
manipulate into
poems,
but silence suits the
sentence well, right now.
Somewhere, a man takes a flight
across the country.
Nowhere specific, a woman tries
to clear her mind.
The advent of Humanity
is a mere speck
in the world’s history.
I’ve learned to live it
wistfully,
dreamily,
wondrously.
I don’t ponder over his
negativity,
over his brood nor his
silence.
I enjoy it,
I adore his thoughts;
the words which wrought
my creativity.
The artist is empty without
its counterpart,
its doppelgänger...it’s muse.
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