Intended Meaning?

Speaking does not mean the words are heard.
Hearing the words does not mean listening.
Listening to the words does not mean understanding.

Say what you mean and mean what you say?
Even when you say what you mean there is a chance that the person(s) hearing are not listening; if they are they may not be taking your meaning for what is meant, but instead for what they feel it means, and that is "a failure to communicate" (Cool Hand Luke).

Thoughts that are spoke to ones self can fall prey to this same folly of failure in ones own mind.
The things you tell yourself may not be what you mean to tell yourself, but they are felt and interpreted that way; the wrong way.
Those voices in your head, those counterfeit people you have created from those that are a part of your life and keep them locked away in your mind, and that inner critic that is too critical are all ways that you allow for self-doubt and tangling of words with meaning.

Intoning. Intention. Inflection. What did you mean by that? How do you want others to take your words?
The subtle differences in pitch, in volume, in tone, or in body language when you say words makes others take them to mean different things.
How sarcastic did you intend what you said to be? How sincere were your words?

If you have to explain yourself to others does that mean that you are a poor communicator? Does it mean they are a bad listener? Or, does it conclude that each person is an individual with their own personal thoughts, feelings, and concepts on what is and is not and therefore they presume the words fit their way of thinking and what is felt by them; ego, angst, and pride may play a part in the picking and choosing of the meant that they take from your meaning.

How do we make those we care for understand the deeper meaning behind our words? How do we help them to comprehend what we really want them to hear?

Emotion can be put into words. Those words can be put down on the page. The pages can be read. In the reading of those words the meaning can be lost. "There lies the rub" (Hamlet); if the meaning is not lost then it is surely bent in the direction of presumed-intent.

Said in Silence

There have been things done

            Things said

            Things in general

                        If there is any meaning to ‘general’

                        Then life’s day-to-day

                                    It fits the definition of ‘general’

            This day          that day           every day         any day           some day

Some days I feel more lost than others

            It is a path that I chose to take

                        Got part way down it and turned around

                                    Rushed back

                                    Trying to follow the bread crumbs

                                                The birds

                                                It must have been the birds

                                                            The loons

                                                They stole the crumbs

                                                Every last one of them

                                    Looking for clues

                                    Searching for the way home

                        The clouds threaten to wash away any trace

                                    Any hint          any bit or piece

                                    All those things that assist me

                        The breeze bleats for my haste

                                    Hurry               hurry               away                gone away

                        Mother Nature this thing I beg of thee

                                    Help me           help me           help me please

                                    Show me the way

                                                Steps to take

                                                            My way home

                                    Help me           help me           help me please

                                    Listen to my cries

                                                Hear my sighs

                                                            Know my regret for wrongs done

                                    Help me           help me           help me please

                                    The crumbs were stolen away

                                                Blown away

                                                            Gone without a trace

                                    Help me           help me           help me please

                                    Those words spoken

                                                Daggers of silence

                                                            Drain tears from my eyes

                        Mother Nature

                                    This I ask of you…what to do?

                                    Guide me where I need to go

                                    Lead me to where I need to be

By thee, Air

that is her breath

By thee, Fire

                                                                        that is her warmth

By thee, Water

                                                                        that is her life

By thee, Earth

                                                                        that is her body

                                               

Falling... A Way

So goes the trickling
   along the walls
   around the edges
   over the rocks
           the twigs
           the tree trunks
bursting from the Earth
     dirt dangling
      scent of forest floor
               fills the senses
      digging its way back
to a time     in this place     years before
     stopping along the roadside
          walking down
          the loose gravely incline
               that led to the water's edge
               where it flowed through the culvert
                            under the road
                and       into the river
Picking my way across the rocks
as the water worked to cause me to lose my balance
trying to get me to tumble in
     and      force me to be drenched in shame
I find my way to the other side and begin my ascent to the water fall at the top
I grab at limbs
     push each footstep firmly down
     pulling and climbing the precarious pathway
knowing that there is a tranquil pool at the top
knowing that the gentle trickling that I hear is there not here
     not at the bottom
     not in this gloom covered by a canopy of conifers
and      a landscape of up rooted and totted remains
     Slip...slide...grab...good save
The mist from the rush of the water sprinkles the ground
Being sure footed is not a sure thing
     The mind is not able to lose itself and wander over the dreadful beauty of the wonder of nature
     On task, focus, every step...
     assist as the ascent ends
     and      a cold pool of pain pleasures
                with possibilities that my life still harbors.

Set in stone.
A rock unknown.
A glimmer of hope. A gleam of fear.
There was a time we were so near.

Defuse?

The inside maze has walls created with slide shows of the  past and as I move forward, or what seems to be forward, I am bombarded with visions and audio replays from days gone by. The problem with these playbacks is that they cause my heart to pound so hard that the sense of inevitable doom spits and hisses its way through me like the long fuse slithering its lit flame closer and closer to the sticks of dynamite that are neatly and tightly wrapped together for greater impact and there is nothing to be done to stop this "self fulfilling prophecy of destruction".

May the Day 14 are We to Be "A Year and a Day"

There it was that moment. That time that I had held in my minds eye as being something somewhere special with another round about my finger.
It was different. Not so different. More personal. It meant the world and all it was was more real than a moment is expected to be.
The tears they fell. Unstoppable soft sobs of over flowing gratitude and joy and love and hope for what may become of us. The arms they held so tight, not wanting to let go.
There was that underlying fear that it was a dream and not going to be real in the morning.
Then the understanding blanketed over me and covered me with the warmth of the forever that we still have and how that forever is our own once again.

Accentuation

Out of words
Outwards
What words would hold the wards to the out?
The way in is round about
Go through the fence
Theatrically fencing
Fending past the past
Turning the corner
Trudging up hill
Climbing rock walls
Each hand hold a hand to hold
Each foot hold a firm foundation
Each step an accentuation
Find the way up
Out of the quagmire of what once was
Inward and upward
Outwards
Out of words

The mind; it plays tricks on the heart. 
The heart; it teases the soul.
The soul; it clings to the familiar.
The familiar; it is ever changing.


As if there were a thing to do that would make the world right, I sit and think and plan and play memories, like movies, in my mind. Each reel has many frames and each frame is left to individual interpretation. The problem that arises from individual interpretation is that no two individuals interpret a frame the same way. Personal feelings, thoughts, and preformed notions smudge the frames; when the reel is replayed the scenes are different, the words are different, and the concepts and ideas that are held are different. 
One can try to explain their perception of the movie, how it affects them, and why they interpret it a certain way; in the end, there is only the heart that holds the key to where the mind takes the soul and what changes occur from one frame to the next. The ever changing scenes are pieced together frame by frame by the heart and the desires of the heart and as a result the mind is forced to interpret the frames a specific way and that in turn tangles the soul with threads from here and there and everywhere as the familiar fades to fantasy and reality is woven into what dreams of truth each individual holds.
What happens when you wake from your dream?