London Poem: Day 112

7 December

Which words are true?
Blinking bright, their shapes
May not mean the same to you,
But language is shared
And we,
Teetering
Between
The sounds
Of what you mean, and what I thought.
There is deception in withholding
So what is it living behind your back?
There is so much lost in silence,
But what is concealed doesn’t
Hurt, and lying because it
Doesn’t exist.

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

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