In the beginning, there was chaos
until a sound broke free, and then
sparked the word, and the word became us
It starts with sounds, playing with sounds
fractal echoes of self-reflected conscious entities
creating the universe and eternity
As I monologue the future and dialogue with the past
there is something that still remains — unknown
As I pick at the scabs on my soul
having soliloquies of the shadow
and peel off the skin of my dreams
I wrote 4 pages of poetry today
and I still feel like I have nothing
to say
or maybe it’s because
I haven’t found the words,
yet
or maybe it’s not
the time to speak,
yet
or maybe it’s time
to play with sounds
and seek the images
that construct the space
in which to create