Words³

Our laughing words through smoke and wine,
We joked of reason’s gentle kind.
Your eyes reveal what feelings find,
Your lips chant mantras through my mind.

What remains when words are through?
The sound, the heat, the thought of you.
What remains when meaning fades?
A spark that glows in darkened days.
What remains

I write in ink that barely shows,
On thought and what they know.
I write for Muse, your pulse, your fire,
To free what has been once inspired.

What remains when meaning fades?
A spark that glows in darkened days.
What remains when words are through?
The sound, the heat, the thought of you.
What remains

I read your words, half breath, half flame,
They call my heart, yet speak my name.
I seek, not find, in what you write,
The warmth now gone from fading light.

What remains of all we’ve said,
Of ink and fire, of heart and head?
The warmth we knew drifts far behind,
A shadowed echo in the mind.

What remains when words are through?
The sound, the heat, the thought of you.
What remains when meaning fades?
A spark that glows in darkened days.
What remains

I walked through halls of dust and thought,
Chose scholar’s ways, as books had taught.
I trade the living for the known,
Where words connect to words alone.

What remains of a doctrine’s claim?
It speaks its truth, yet none remain.
What remains when feeling has no place?
Just words a hymn to their own name.

I trade the living for what’s said,
Experience pressed to what is read.
Imagination turns to dice of words,
Rolled through the dust of well worn worlds.

What remains of a doctrine’s claim?
It speaks its truth, yet none remain.
What remains when feeling has no place?
Just words a hymn to their own name.

They teach the words as if their own,
In halls where warmth has never grown.
Each name repeated, praised, and filed,
The echoes linger cold, compiled.

What remains when words serve words alone?
Cold connections, meaning turned to stone.
What remains when feeling has no place?
Just terms that juggle in empty space.

And still I stay, alone, yet near,
Each work a mirror, whispering clear.
No truth to claim, no voice to steer,
The meaning lives in how we hear.

There’s a place beyond the words you know,
where thought moves fast, where images flow.
No terms to hold, no lines to trace,
Just shifting worlds in boundless space.

What remains when language fades away?
A dance of thought where meanings sway.
What remains beyond the written page?
Lightning strikes that nothing can cage.

Morphing worlds and shifting light,
Contexts drift and intertwine.
Lightning strikes of knowing clear,
Volumes grasped without a word.

What remains when language fades away?
A dance of thought where meanings sway.
What remains beyond the written page?
Lightning strikes that nothing can cage.

A word without borders defining you,
Seeing all at once, feeling it through.
Complex depths in moments seen,
Thought that flows where words have been.

There’s no need to lock what moves so free,
No frames to hold what thought can be.
You can step beyond the halls you knew,
Into the wordless, into the true.

Where recognition comes like storms of light,
And understanding needs no fight.

What remains when language fades away?
A dance of thought where meanings sway.
What remains beyond the written page?
Lightning strikes that nothing can cage.

And at the end, when silence moves,
We dance again with the true Muse.