Palabra

They come to me you know. All at once. Like a vision. Like a picture of their meaning. And I pick from space and man-made eras, which would be the best to convey the pain and the anger and the betrayal and the peace and the glory and the visions and the visions and the visions never cease. Then. They. Hide. from me. They slip through my grasp. They elude me. They mock me from beyond the real. They melt away. And all I'm left with are the confusion and the anger and the trepidation and the insecurity and the guilt and the sin and no real way to convey the visions, always, there are visions... I hear the silence in my mind. I feel it in my core. When there is no escape. But I wait. I wait longer than others have the patience to wait for me. They grow tired of the anticipation. They grow resentful. And they leave. But like a faithful friend, my words come back to me. My words feel me reaching out for them. And with the gentlest of embraces, I press my cautious lips together and utter, my words.