There is no time left.
Nothing left to do but Speak.

Words tumble out like pebbles,
tiny stones spilling from a Child’s Hand
too small to contain them,
too wild to restrict them.

Mineral and rock pinch the Souls of Feat,
jewels with soft, sparkly edges catch the light
just so,
just so.
Threads are formed.

Strands like lightning flashes,
like Snake’s tongue,
quick and sharp.
Look away and you’ll miss it.

And the thread remains,
sometimes so thick it burns
my fingers as I weave it under,
I weave it over.

I weave it with filaments so thin
the moisture from my skin might dissolve these

Words form tapestries,
shimmering webs to hang in windows,
catching Moonlight,
catching Stars and Truth.

It’s best to write these words in
delicate ink,
silvery strings that loop into o’s and s’s and p’s.

And Voice gives them Life.

Remember to read Them out loud.
Re-member to dream Them out loud.

Published by myriam khouzam

i am interested by life's simple intricacies. i am silence and noise. i am duality. i am a raw treat making, yoga teaching, dog walking lover of life.

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