Carta

A letter

Is no letter

If it’s written at night as you lie

Staring at oscelating overhead fan

Hearing in its medicate purr the things you cannot alter

A letter

Unwritten

Is simply a wish

Searching for diety

Perhaps it will never find

A God willing

Or time will dissect

Impulse

Those words, carefully written out

To articulate the sounds

You hear chiming in your heart

Continue unheard

So instead, you join the mass of humanity

As they embark

Every morning with first train

A legion of

Unwritten emotion

On the tip of their

Blistered tongues

39 thoughts on “Carta

  1. Wow, and what a great title. A map that is never drawn up. How many if us have unwritten letters left on our tongues because we can’t write them. Reading this reminds of Woolf’s ‘A Room of One’s Own’ and the struggle of female writers. Great poetry!

  2. Words unsaid, letters unwritten, how many wander vainly in the mind? Are some better left so? Will some be regretted in years to come?

  3. To me, this feels like a realization–one that needed to be written. This is poignant and speaks of today’s world and the disappearance of the simple things:

    “So instead, you join the mass of humanity

    As they embark

    Every morning with first train

    A legion of

    Unwritten emotion

    On the tip of their

    Blistered tongues”

    Brilliantly done, Candice.

  4. I LOVE your letters and I have your stickers on my fridge and Mighty and I see them every time we open the fridge to get a certain yellow object πŸ˜‰

  5. “..or time will dissect
    Impulse
    Those words, carefully written out
    To articulate the sounds
    You hear chiming in your heart”

    sigh. oh yes. yes…

    remiscent of…

    “If you dissect a bird
    To diagram the tongue
    You’ll cut the chord
    Articulating song…
    ——
    If you pluck out the heart
    To find what makes it move,
    You’ll halt the clock
    That syncopates our love.”
    –Sylvia Plath

    except yours is in the key of C. πŸ˜‰

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