Sometimes these words fail to convey a true experience
And their precision strikes as a blunt blade
Unable to pierce down deeply into that . . .
That which turns beneath his chest
That which pulls at his bones
That which hides in the cornered, obsidian shadows
Cast long by a mind locked tightly inside a fragile skull
With a hidden universe of memories and concepts looking out through a lens
Gazing through glass at . . . something he can’t really describe with mere words

© Mike Yost