© Steve King 2016
All rights reserved
I wait upon that passing peace
cessation of this laboring
and febrile cast of mind
emptied of all wanting
every risen doubt
efforts easing in retreat
slipped but for an instant
this I know
expectation of a gentling tide
a quelling of the sort
to shutter all intention and regard
bastardry of madding dreams
and every sharp discontinuity
shadow of benign design
to ease the blinding weariness
and press of insolent ideas
balm each emptied sense
each dormant expectation
everything that would be known as me
musing in full silence
invitation and response at large
grateful for the mindful loss of words
so not to test the call of every void
straining on the whisper
of the distant friend
without a name
who ever waits
patient to all ends
A new poem for The Poetry Pantry
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