Compassion Fatigue, poetry

Talk

Here is the problem,
communication.
It seems so simple,
vibration of the Diaphragm
causing air to produce sounds.
Syllables.
Words.
Sentences.
Languages.
Can we find something more tangible in those sounds?
the Images?
the Pains?
the Loves?
the Dreams? the River?
How does one even converse upon such a conversation.,
to convey even a small particle
on the banks along the river of the mind
and the ocean in which it roars?

Words are so restricting.
Ink patterns on tree mash.
There is paper,
yet then, there is the tree.

We’re looking at the tree at different angles.
What I fathom…Can you not?
You do not answer;
nevertheless, the questions will not die.
They will circumvent you forever.

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