And if I were a word, you are stuck with,
You let thy soul be bared and unguarded.
Slipped from your wandering mind,
into an unwilling echo of the silence.
I slip and fall into the sound and voices,
brimming with noise, all heard but deafened.
But you will hear it when the last grain of sand
merges with the fallen mountain.
I will be let out, as an obnoxious memory.
From the deepest disunited splinter of your soul,
through the labyrinth of your wandering mind.
#SundayScribbling #378
