The Things We Say

But yet, we falter —

The things we say
(Or think we say)
They morph and alter
Everyday –

So we recall,
Recall it all —
But yet, we falter,
Frail and small –

To speak the mind
We left behind,
Belief we beggar,
Naught we find —

The things we said
(Or thought we said)
They maunder:
Icy,
Cold,
And dead

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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