Carol Grimes.   Moira. ＠

 I wanted to whisper a word or two. 

Couldn’t find your ears.

I needed to see you, to tell you a secret, 

so why did you disappear? 

 Who do I give the words to?

they were meant to be only for you,  

Forming my mouth in a closed line of silence, 

is a difficult thing to do.

In my youth & young woman hood,

so easy to drown it all, 

drinking the thoughts to a silent morose

bending the mind into shapes undefined what ever my moira,  

slip sitting & whistling the days away 

in my own constructed  maze I’d stay 

go away, old feelings, away. 

So what happens to language tangled in mind,

with no reason to be there at all?

Words jostling for space in a place overcrowded, 

all useless and driving you mad.

Is there a place for releasing  unspoken old intents,

telling the  shouting & whisperings,

unexpressed meanings?

Killing them dead.

 We could crush them all into bottles of wine, 

 blue flowers, or a trip to the south, 

 sun on the skin, a smile, a song, 

once the words have been wiped from my mouth. 

 Oh, it would be so peaceful to forget

 a skinful of thoughts, to change what may be to what is 

 Ooh bliss this, is to......unthread the words unsaid.