Sunday, October 25, 2020

Silence and Self

 Life is not just in bursts of noise.

It throbs within silence as well.

In sighs that are dewed in letters of love,

In incense that floats to stained opaque glass

In sketches that ripple with unceasing waves

In fragrance that wafts from an orchard in bloom

In dreams that are way beyond words.

So why then this clamour for 

Conch bell and shrieks

From those who seek refuge in pause?

Rather I'll soak the quietness of nights

When no festive howls are heard

And fuse within veins some lavender and oak

That bear the still centre of time.

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