by ashwinia

Those are called moments:

when an emotion befalls you
not a care that you look for none,

when the feeling conquers your within
fills you whole
the balloon-like voids,
flits into the invisible pores
and the constricted straits
till it douses, chokes your brain,
when it commands your aspect:
curls your lips, waters your eyes
or not
though you intend not, even a twitch;
directs your mind and invades you-
by an imperialism of a different kind,

when you feel it so intense
You grope for words-
words you know exist
you know as familiar
those that turn disloyal then
and find you blind to,

And when as fiery as the emotion itself
is the realization of an inability
to elucidate it for another,
recreate it in words
and vivify it to equivalence.

For those are called moments
that are souvenirs of humanity
that cannot in any case be crafted.