The Sorrow Of Words

The sorrow of words that rarely tell themselves

They sail like brightly coloured balloons

Lost in their own universe

They spin off the edge of a tongue

kissing air and emptiness

Seldom filling loneliness

Leaving their sound like a symphony

A faint noise hanging in the air

Somewhere in the back of my mind

The radio is playing

A song I used to know

yvette smith oct 08

poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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