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Words: Have You Ever Wondered

Words. Have you ever wondered 
where they come from? 
No, I don't mean their etymology, 
rather where in the brain do they spring from? 
Thoughts come, and then go, leaving no traces of their passing; 
but then words, shapes writ
on walls as in Belshazzar's feast, 
they come and stamp their presence on the mind. 
Whence do they come? Is there some bubbling spring, 
beneath the conscious mind, 
from which the flood of words wells forth, unstoppable? 
This word presents itself, to be
admired for its shape and meaning, elegant, interesting, 
worthy of contemplation; 
then followed by that one, dark and brooding, 
yet somehow in appropriate apposition 
to that which went before. 
Words...interesting characters....
full of portent and hidden meanings.
“Beware the ides of March”.  
Thus the Soothsayer portends Calpurnia’s dreams 
Made real, blood staining Roman streets.
“Stay in touch”.
Parting words, soft spoken with questioning 
Gaze. What portent is this? Are my dreams
To shape my corporeal present?
Are my emotions again to stain my waking hours,
Opening wounds barely closed, tears washing
Clean the blood of grief?
“Stay in touch”.
I like those words, they bring the inner fizz of 
Anxiety, nagging at me, disturbing my sleep.
“It’s been a long time” and “Stay in touch”:  
The alpha and omega of our meeting.
There is a palpable difference in you; a change,
Do you now see a different future, free of history? 
Have you taken the deep breath and sought the 
Intimacy of your space? Your own space,
Where you confront the demons of the past,
And the fears of days to come?
I like those words.
There is a future in those words; not the 
Finality of never seeing you, never knowing
You again. “Stay in touch”: portent of a conversation,
That, maybe, perhaps, might lead to a place where
Happiness colours the world, bleaching bright clean
The stained steps of the past.
“Beware the ideas of March”: there is no envy, I think,
Nor ambition, nor the hubris of power in you;
Only the resonances of the past, that can be healed.
And I? I am no Emperor, falling at the scent of the 
Adoring vulgates, desperate for the crown of your love.
No. I am the romantic hope-aholic, who listens
To your song and stills his eager mind and 
Fluttering heart. “Stay in touch”: 
I like those words.

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