Love and Words

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the wicker heart

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Why is it,

when all at last falls silent

and the World turns to me

to listen to my song, 

I have nothing to sing?


No words, or thoughts, 

images or harmony.


I stand there, 

with my mouth hanging open, 

my tongue beginning to dry,

looking back at the World with 

unblinking eyes

as it looks at me,

until the World sighs,

and turns away 

to more lively things.


Leaving me stunned,

and filled with an ache,

that becomes a pain, 

that rises and then roars

through my chest

into my throat

threatening to become tears,

but it is words instead, 

that tumble over my walls

and pile at my feet.

 

Only too late,

words must be listened to, 

or they grow dead.


And like an old man,

I sweep 

the leaves of my self

off the porch of my soul

like so much unwelcome clutter.


Their colors still 

so beautiful and promising,

yet so fragile,

they crumble 

and become 

little more than dust,

that marks the passage of feet.

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decagon          poetry

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