They search for many things, they do many things
They fill in their silences with words because- because.
They chatter, like the little flies that you could never get rid of,
but they prattle on, and they yak about themselves.
They couldn't bear to converse about someone else
it would ruin their style.
When they play charades,
words fail them, a game not so well played;
Life's purpose would not be laid out right
without them words.
Wittering and dancing around,
round and round in circles
with petty things to palaver about
time to waste because they have time on their hands
Hands that gesture wildly when they run off at their mouth
Lumbering about, looking for people in the south
to rattle on about their pathetic, pitiful lives.
We search for many things, we do many things.
YOU ARE READING
broken, bitter unsaid things
PoesíaA collection of my poetry about things in my life that are not very frequently talked about. Let me know if reading these poems makes you want me to write a book using fictional characters but have the same plot as my life.
