The Wordplay ...

We are all but unknowing mimics,
Magicians, snapping out the tricks;
It's not just in the way we think,
But in our use of that invisible ink,
In our speaking in another's voice,
A stranger, who wasn't our choice.

I say what I have to say,
And then begins the true wordplay;
Whatever I mean, what you grasp
Has a lot to do with that clasp
Of your memory, of your experience,
Yet, blaming me seems of convenience.
The hug, smile, and the silence,
Reined in and ready, as is their sense,
To me, suddenly, seem less absurd,
Apt only for the dearest is the dear word.