they hold the inkblot before me
their eyes search my silence
like they're trying to find
a needle in a hurricane
what do you see? they ask
a question heavy with expectation
i see a fist opening
or is it a heart breaking?
someone else might see a tree
its roots tearing through darkness
someone might see a moth igniting
its wings against the sun
is my answer the truth
or just the shadow of my fear?
the shapes have no edges
only the boundaries we give them
we see what we are
a mirror turned inward
the blot becomes a diary
and the page keeps listening
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: March 27th, 2026 10:07
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
A lovely interpretation of the test itself. Well explored and worded it speak just as a poem is a reflection of the writer and reader.
Thank You Soren
You are most welcome Gray
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