Conversations

This poem is written in the Sestina Form. From www.creative-writing-now.com "Sestinas are poems in which six words keep coming back at the ends of the lines in a specific poem." Enjoy.


The voices float around and through me, their presence
a welcome diversion from the silence. However, the interpretation
of their discourse leaves me wondering, full of questions.
I listen carefully, fully engaged, ready to receive
the wisdom of the ages. The talk revolves, the conversation
spins in circles, leaves me grasping, gasping unable to understand.

Laughter rises in smoky curls over my head. I understand
they find my struggles humorous. My presence
is a joke, my lack of comprehension a matter of more conversation.
I beg for enlightenment. I offer my soul for an interpretation
of the concepts they discuss so meaningfully. All I receive
for my trouble is a wave of disgust, a discouragement of questions.

My anger does not smolder. It explodes. My questions
pour from my heart, from my mind, from my conscious. I strive to understand
why the voices hold back, don't believe I'm ready to receive
their wisdom. They threaten to remove themselves from my presence,
leaving me in despair, longing for an accurate interpretation.
They say they will not return, will no longer engage in conversation

where I can listen, ears and curiosity interrupting. Their conversation
isn't for the likes of me, they say. I have too many questions,
too many inquiries. They wish only to be able to speak, interpretation
be damned. But why, I demand. Why don't you want me to understand?
Why do you invite yourselves to the desolation of my mind? Your presence
is not welcome if you will not share, if you will not allow me to receive

the glorious words you own, if you will not allow me to receive
the vestige of importance you wear as your conversation
rises around me. Shame on you, voices, for making your presence
known, for speaking in riddles and with words that answer no questions.
Silence descends as the voices recoil in shock. Seldom do they receive
the anger they usually dole out. My words need no interpretation.

The voices start again, but one voice rises above -- Why do you need interpretation
of our words, it asks. We don't ask you for definition. We receive
the meaning of your verbosity without inquiry. We understand
so why don't you? Why should we carry on our conversation
just for your entertainment? I strive to learn, I yell. I ask questions
to further my knowledge. Suddenly the voices' presence

begins to dim. I realize the interpretation, the meaning of the conversation
is lost as I receive my medication. Do you have any questions,
the nurse asks. I understand, I say. My sanity returns, pushing the voices from my presence.




All content ęGlenda Poulter, 2012-2014.