©2020
Steve King
All
rights reserved
I
have not found traces
Of
anything eternal
By
searching.
Nor
held in my reflection
Any
measure save my own.
Each
gathered moment
Emptied
of all others,
Touch
of rumored spirits
Fickle
as dying winds.
Found
amid strange silence,
Wondering
at my place
In
this peculiar dream.
Listening
in emptiness
For what silence shall sing.
Life is so often a search and rescue mission, and we come up emptier the more we scrabble around for the intangible. This is crafted like an antique piece of jewelry; graceful lines and scrolling to complement its central theme, telling us we can only find the hidden within the hidden parts of ourselves.Or so I read. Beautiful, Steve, and a pleasure to inhale its calm in these frantic times. Have a kickass weekend if you can, and thanks for the excellent 55.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the kind words, Joy. As usual, the commentary strikes me as being more erudite than is its object!
DeleteSearching is what us humans do on so many levels...especially poets. This is so lovely Steve!! That last line is stunning!!
ReplyDeleteLove the "fickle as dying winds", Steve.
ReplyDeleteThe days we are in find many looking inward and many avoiding it. I love your ending "Listening in emptiness For what silence shall sing."
ReplyDeleteI love the calm, measured and sure tone. This is a gem.
ReplyDelete