Maybe the words will return

Born of ideas half formed between dreams

Ideas that perhaps weren’t ideas at all

Or complete thoughts

But random images surfacing from a saturated consciousness

Spilling over edges like a foamy head of beer on a frosted glass

Leaving a damp awareness of untasted pleasure


Words, paled by shadows and non-exposure

Barely able to hold a meaning

Whether a particular sense or intention

Or an unkind lack of generosity

Still, for a while they caught me with their elegance and truth

Until they collapsed into letters unbound by exactitude

Into sounds that resonated with emotion not meaning


Maybe the words will return but they will be different

They will travel in a different direction

Than the compassless flight of a thought at dawn

Words to bandaid dripping cuts of consciousness

As night becomes dawn becomes day

And brilliance is no longer a beacon but a surrounding

Words forming and reforming into truths and tales

Carrying on and carrying through whatever thoughts are waiting

For those words searching for expression

Releasing the grasp of possessive acquisition

Into poetry



David Trudel       © 2013




Filed under Poetry

3 responses to “Unwords

  1. Beautiful words. 🙂

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