i pluck out all those gigantic <br />words in a dictionary with the wish <br />to write a high brow poem <br /> <br />it turns out a fruit i do not even know how to call <br />neither sweet, nor sour, nor a pearly shape <br />nor anything that you can find in this world <br />the final poem glaring at me like a stranger <br />one bumps into in a foreign town <br /> <br />all the words beg me for the reason <br />to grace my poem, they say they <br />are not even my friend for i know them not <br />that they have never interacted with me <br />and i have never caroused with them <br /> <br />they dont mind, they say, standing in <br />for the verses as new friends do for formality <br />but frankly tell me we are not yet in such spirit or <br />company as to perform a dynamic act <br /> <br />i reread the poem to find indeed they are mere words <br />friends that got thrown together without knowing <br />what to expect from each other <br /> <br />they bow out and the whole poem just got lost <br />in the wilderness of my mind <br /> <br />i seek those friends out anyway, to share a part of their life <br />so that i can if needed be, belt out a proper song with them <br />to impress the world, to throw the audience out of their seats<br /><br />john tiong chunghoo<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/living-the-words/
