The Bride of Silence*

The night is dark, no one comes. Even my thoughts, scorn my company,

A tree branch rustling, on a thin tent wall. Reminds me of silence, an elder symphony,

The forest is like that, when the shadows lay thick, and sounds are swallowed with a respectful bow,

You feel weightless, empty, in the vastness of space. Like a lonely figurehead, on a foggy prow,

So you enliven this absence with your brush, or your pen, and with a stroke, you bring it to life,

You give it expession, a face, a vioce to sing. Then in your solitude, become it’s wife.

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4 thoughts on “The Bride of Silence*

  1. the first poem i can remember writing:

    a floating seed of summer’s thought,
    bourn lightly on the breeze,
    difts a spiral, sunny dance,
    through the spires in the trees,

    rests for a time above my weary head,
    with a priceless gift to lend,
    yet finding in there no room for this,
    finds purchase in my pen,

    I write…

    That was written in a diary I had in 5th grade. It is still my all-time favorite, and haven’t been able to surpass it.

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  2. yes. it seems that beauty is nice, but it is the pain that really wrenches us bodily. Happiness just makes me want to dance, but heartbreak makes me reach deep inside of my self and pull out the darkness. It is during my broken moments that I bare my soul on the page.

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