I am naught but
Ink on a page.
I have no real meaning
Beyond that which is
Given to me.
My lines and shapes can
Form countless languages.
The words tell stories,
Share worlds and knowledge.
Yet meaning falls to
The mind of the beholder.
They could speak any
Number of tongues,
Yet if I depict
Something they can't read,
Then I am meaningless.
I am naught but
Ink on a page.
I have no real meaning
Beyond that which is
Given to me.
I could be a doodle,
Or a master's opus.
So many possible colors
And images that I
Could show you.
Yet suppose my audience
Is blind?
They won't be able
To see my shapes,
They can't find any meaning.
For I am naught but
Ink on a page.
I have no real meaning
Beyond that which is
Given to me.
YOU ARE READING
Mind's Tales
PoetryIf you're one of those folks that think that all poems need to rhyme, I'm sorry. In any case, this is a simple collection of poems. A few of them rhyme. But most of them don't.
