It is a strange joy of poetry, for the poet, that the words, with such strong and specific meaning when penned, can mean something different and unique to each reader. Even at times a reader may find different meaning when at different points in their life. Many other forms of written work, to have the original intent not conveyed clearly to each reader, is a consternation, perhaps even a failing, yet poetry, most like painting in this way, draws forth meaning through perception.
Thank you all for your praise, and for indulging my prose.
Thank you for sharing! Very true though I once read something like once you publish or tell a story it is no longer your story but the listeners - there is no listening not filtered through their own different perspective hence same words have a thousand meanings drawn half from within the viewer.
Forever alone
Inside this skin suit
Wether crowded room
Or solitude complete
As though a passenger
Traveling through this life
Longing to love
Connections not quite
When so near at hand
I feel light years away
So more like the sun
I send out my light
Burning inside
My heart's furnace bright
Yet never knowing a moon
Unreflected
My light
This one...disconnection almost out of body I think we all get that feeling sometime s - what is this thing in the mirror is it really me? It's rarely how you imagine yourself in your mind's eye...it's just this carrier - luminous beings are we not this crude matter?