spoken imagination 1/6/2002
something spills that i have forgotten too quickly
that i should trust, now
softly i should be more afraid than i am
even if i feel things are better left unsaid
every word brushes colours of how it should be
a way that absolutes speak to me
tells me they lie all too often about the wrong things
still hiding my eyes from what i fear
i do not want to see
the imagination is ever great a being..