Not My Words

A words is borrowed from legacy's crypt.

Passed on and on in the flesh hence sensed.

A gate it's portal does,

Open to state the presence,

In moments whence,

They spring from owned conceptions.

The sound echoes plain,

Like a strangers face,

It's meaning is embraced.

Fitting in the noose of presence due.

But they can be heard in different form,

Used to convey some other grace.

Private meaning has no place,

Leaving a shivers glaze,

Feelings lose to a haze.

A word never to be possessed,

Not to a single expression.

In deed, a word is borrowed,

It will flow forever of essence,

In the convenience of,

The flesh hence sensed,

Again and again.