He comes in
silence
Lightness, incandescent intensity
Covered by ethereal
shadows
He ponders
while watching
As if to
weigh my soul
An
apprenticed wordsmith
Concentrating on words
Their place,
their texture
Hue and
colour
Their tautness
and their tightness
Their rhyming
sequence
The beat
and thrum of verse
The beauty
of imagery
Rawness of
sentiment
These things
that take my time
He is
unperturbed
By
concentrations determination
Unimpressed
by effort and will
He stands
and listens
To the
stillness
And pointing between the words
To spaces
To galaxies
of emptiness
And universal
hollowness
He raises a
questioning eye
I know the
question he asks of me
He asks of
every Seer
Have we
endured the spaces of our soul?
And
journeyed through the galaxies of our pain?
Have we stood
in ecstasy at universal beauty and joy?
For we who
fill the spaces with our words
And capture
butterfly emotions
Then pin
them down with heavy words
We who are
the Seers of words
Must first
have stood in Silence.
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