Day 262: Hanging on Words

Some journeys are not about the themes they are associated with, they are neither born out of your source or the destination we travel from or towards. These are linked with the companies we keep, the conversations and sometimes just moments of quiet driving as it rains outside.  Yesterday was one of these drives down to Indianapolis Museum of Arts to attend a poetry slam. We are inclined to believe that these poems echo louder in our minds than in the halls of the museum. I discussed this with a friend recently how as kids we thoughts sleeping with books underneath our pillows would infuse in our minds, maybe wishful thinking on our part. As I stood there at the museum lobby I stared at the roof of a dimly lit lobby I found books that filled the ceiling hanging with strings, words hanging above us, as we hang by the words. "Hanging on every word" is listening and absorbing every word and I feel it applies to the things we want to read, the ones we often remember selectively. For a few of us we choose not to remember, we choose to be living more abruptly moment to moments cashed in as needed and for a few this is never an option. For now I hang on to all your words and I write with just a few.

Hanging on Words
So I start with a thought, in between hours of restless sleep
Racing with those that get away and some that I get to keep
So I write them down and keep them close anyways
As I look for meaning in between odd hours of the day

I wonder what qualifies as imperfect mistakes
Between the giving and takings, do I get to choose what I take
Do I write undefined to you or with a purpose in my mind?
Or hang on every word that comes from you, the ones I find

We are part of the artwork installations we walked around
We are the moments in between the sights and all the sounds
Nothing as special could be captured all alone
Even live music and pencil sketches, and a drive back home

I am shelter from cold rain and sometimes just a warm hug that you sneak
Caring for things that I keep as mine, while I let you take a peek
So stay with me just a little bit more, write poetry as though nothing changed
You are coffee cups with hot tea, you are my perfect mid-week breaks

So write back to me, smile unnoticed and with absolutely no reason
Words that hang from books, like leaves that refuse to fall this season
Color me with just the shades you know, the ones you love to use
For everything & nothing makes sense all the time, so I write with just a few.