Spoken

If I could write you a passage, One simple series of words, A string trapped in time, B e i n g p u l l e d at b o t h e n d s , Stretched beyond the means, Until it snaps and the letters drift, Into molecules of chord, A mirage of sounds, Muttered with haste, In a moment near weak, But strong enough to say, Not scream but speak, With intention and rhyme, A vision of what is mine, In the back of my mind, Or at the tip of my tongue, Rolling over and out, From the lips of my mouth, Contentment in form, With words I adorn.