Sometimes words
gallop from my mouth
in a disordered rush
and eyes glaze over
under the barrage.

when its warmth that I feel,
cold razor words fall from my lips
and the distance to bridge
becomes a glacial chasm.

Sometimes words
are so futile and grey
for painting passions
that could explode in a rainbow
of numberless colours
that I despair.

a chord sounds
when I look in someone’s eyes
and a note of harmony
hums between us.
These moments, though rare
keep me in tune.

Anna Meryt ©

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