A poem for Friday: Voices, thoughts, and silence opinions fly like seeds in the wind but they fall on the rock the hard, clumsy rock. And we flail to be heard, our voices of great import but lost in the fray amid the clutter of sound. we bang, clang, and fight for space. well deserved space. And retreat to bed to find the echo of silence more deafening than the noise. How have I become accustomed to the noise? Silence is pain and the hunger gnaws. Eyes closed, I hum. Hum a tune - soft and free, as a bird soaring on the winds current- with only the ruffling winged feathers to acquiesce my craving for sound.
Posted on: Sat, 25 Jan 2014 05:35:56 +0000
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