Wonder

sometimes i wonder if i would prefer a world in which things were plain and simple
words spoken held fast to their meaning, and insinutation would cease.
 no more hidden messeges between the lines of a book.
everything would be literal and pure, no more misunderstanding.
and best, no more tears shed over those skewed translations, no more hearts aflame and burned for misunderstanding.
what is the value of an eloquent poem if the words are empty and artificial?
or a silence seen as soothing by one and awkward by the other?


a conversation with twisted vines of words-
as they entwine they can be caressing or constricting
interpret them as your heart tells you.
but as the mind grasps reality, you fall into despair as you find the true intentions.


but in a frank utopia this would never occur.
all breaks would be clean and wounds would heal-
quickly and without the infection and pain of adding sympathetic salt.
the line would become more distinct between romance and love
a painful truth would fade quickly, instead of the lasting sore of a sweet lie
mistrust would be wiped away, and truth would reign free
our hearts would be saved from the entanglement of deceipt
and our burdens lightened from the tiresome task of deciphering words.


but in such a world would we lose our mystery?
would romance cease and love become cold and bland?
would we appreciate the truth?
i will never know,
but it never can hurt to wonder