diction
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We speak the same languages
That’s all that it is
It’s not the skin or the anatomy that comes within
It’s the way that we argue over something small
My fingers wildly compose literary sheet music of emotions.
Scaling keystrokes somehow translate my inner entity and immortalizes it with words.
I don't ask for much,
I don't expect much either,
Not from you anyway,
All I really want
Need
From you is
Your acceptance.
Am I asking too much?
Because you're making it
Seem so.
Aisles of white, and read
By scholars and hoodlums alike,
Segregated by understanding, sight
Of the future is too often said.
The march of the Pedagogue
Held count by the beads of the Abacus,
