Who is it that we come to, if not to self;
unclothed, undivided, unwed to others in
spite of making appearance –
Gestures, laughter
a blurred vision of life unkempt;
a rainforest of uncertainty with each thought
set into motion-
Voices surround the unsung clamor; shelter
becomes a prism,
harbored between self
and poetry
bkmackenzie
copyrighted
posted for the Poetry Pantry at Poets United....
