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This Is NOT A Poem
I am here
on this page
in my words
and you are looking at me right now
If my presence is palpable
your mind's eye will not wander
Is it visage, tone
style, or content
that is holding your attention?
a crispness, or sharpness
maybe a bit of intrigue?
No!
These things have their place
they are necessary
but will not suffice
No!
what holds your attention is presence!
No matter how well coiffed
and accessorized my words are,
presence remains a separate entity
I, my words, must exude
something inexpressible
ineffable
beyond face value
Presence, and presence alone
holds this magic
Words in themselves
and their vagaries
can lie
The truth,
lies in my presence
It cannot lie
So I ask myself
am I, my words,
exuding the truth
or merely exulted versions of a lie?
I, as subject ,
will never know for sure
Only you, as observer, can
on this page
in my words
and you are looking at me right now
If my presence is palpable
your mind's eye will not wander
Is it visage, tone
style, or content
that is holding your attention?
a crispness, or sharpness
maybe a bit of intrigue?
No!
These things have their place
they are necessary
but will not suffice
No!
what holds your attention is presence!
No matter how well coiffed
and accessorized my words are,
presence remains a separate entity
I, my words, must exude
something inexpressible
ineffable
beyond face value
Presence, and presence alone
holds this magic
Words in themselves
and their vagaries
can lie
The truth,
lies in my presence
It cannot lie
So I ask myself
am I, my words,
exuding the truth
or merely exulted versions of a lie?
I, as subject ,
will never know for sure
Only you, as observer, can