11/08/2021
INTUITION
A poem is the thought before the sentence,
but what came first, music or words?
A friend said neither:
“it’s the drum that’s heard.”
There’s a rhythm in nature,
perhaps caused by the heart,
a boom boom beat like a well-aimed dart.
I don’t speak English, American seems more true,
an amalgam of things, a cultural stew.
Spanish, Yiddish, and Japanese it seems,
are all tossed in to create the more universal scene,
Express yourself in words, and you will be immortal,
Mak Tub – it is written, is my current portal.
But before any language comes the thought,
its why translation isn't what I've sought.
Ineffable isn't likely taught.
(c) 2017, Scott Myers
all writes preserved
