Solitude
There would be an audience
for silence, not golden silence
but the sort that comes
after loud hysteria.
and in the silence come spilling
out of great waves
of truth as there has never occurred,
habitual ways of thinking and writing.
The sort of poetical thoughts
that wax over in the skull
of dead rats
after they've laid in the earth
a thousand years.
All an overnight success
the poets finding their way back,
simple as lifting a book from a shelf,
opening it to find the sun gleaming
in the cool water
and drink it and like a fish come into existence
completely unknown.
Ernest Slyman
HomePage
www.geocities.com/soho/7514
email: [log in to unmask]
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
|