Sep 08, 2008 22:56
Your words spill onto a page
from the trembling cup of your mind.
You make a shattering music
in the lonely chamber of your heart
as the wind breaks the news.
Plugged in to an internal station,
you turn the volume up
to keep the world out,
But when the music stops, a loud hush
rushes in, placing you
in the middle of the moors,
seething with silence.
But tonight let me take my place
among the forlorn angels of Sudder Street.
But who eats poetry?
I love beautiful, beautiful poetry. :)