Poem By John Seabrook

My words unravel, unfold in front of me
inside of me, marvel me, untold by me.
This is a small converse.ation
between man and manifestation,
as man takes action
we see words aren’t as loud as they seem.
And it’s in this converse.ation
where I see the stream
of prose and written dreams
of lyrics hidden amongst the seams
of all the saids and silences of our dreams.
The demanding pause
we all look for
as one speaks for too many more
and all his cause
is lost, is broken, is taken away
and this converse.ation
is silenced away.
We tend to take for granted
the slanted slang and mirrored tang
of jest and banter of human tongue
the likes of which we are among
and though it seems fun
the joy is missing in the converse.ations
misread messages and ached agendas
toiled tinkers and secret surrenders.
I’m walking in my converse and converse.ations.
I’m talking in my converse and converse.ations.
It’s my conservations of human converse.ations
those need my attentions
my gratifications.

(In dedication to the lost conversations through txt, phones, Msn, internet...)

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