I lie adjacent to beauty;
gardens of metaphors, scattered
bright flowers of similes, branching to
blooming imagery. Starkly contrasted
with dirty crossroads of conjunctions
and the interruptions of unwanted punctuation.
I am in the middle: content with obscurity,
silent in movement, invisible in sight.
Yet with every rising sentence,
I guide words like sheep to their pens,
knowing I will never be seen, just a ghost -
my white attire shining next to the cold
black lettering, blending to the snow-
shadowed background. I hear no words of thanks
for supporting the structure,
for separating the vocabulary. I am nothing
more than a forgotten cog, still turning, as
I lie adjacent to beauty.
