Its in the mark of a word
the lay of a line
the words compact tight to form
draws rich upon the other
intense to the sway
these mortal passages of thought
eternal array
speaks out deep, full
performs its cause
the state
Being.
Till illuminated
by pitch and tone
another perceives
gains, grasps
the words undying melody
A portrayal of solitude's depth
grasping the breath of past gone poets
the words said
leave a multitude of images to graft
All that is unsaid.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph