The Art of Feeling

A poem

Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash

I do not know who seeded love here
and kept my heart bowed,
a journey for those
whose act caught no game
and whose art was held in reins.

All my eyes sought forsooth;
we cradled in time
by young members of numbers,
symbols and letters held high,
the meaning of
scents, seasons, and scenes,
living from now to now.

Where light shines high,
chilling in clean pleats,
where talk melts me right,
where the butter of words opened.

A sense of communication and meaning-making, emphasizing expression feelings and experiences.