Paul's most recent poem was written while "typing to someone online and listening to some strange music"...hmmm...not bad, I would say. - poetheart 02/11/01
Words work their way gently
Onto this soft white background
Their meaning, unsure
And uncorrelated
Till the end is near
Till the words transcribe
And transpose
Till the meaning of all
Seems worthless
Unto the very pattern
They work themselves into
The exact reason is never
Defined…except in the minds
Of the perceivers
Outpouring in emotions
And resolve for this
Canvas to absorb
And placing itself
In a shadow of reclamation
Each phrase seems to
Connect and serve
A different purpose
To each mind who
Bothers to comprehend
At its own time
And in its own life
The sketch often has
Many blanks left
Intentionally to signify
A closure that hasn’t arrived…
© 2002 by Paul Papasavas