Thursday, March 26, 2020


©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. 


  1. 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.

    1. Thanks for the kind words, Joy. As usual, the commentary strikes me as being more erudite than is its object!

  2. Searching is what us humans do on so many levels...especially poets. This is so lovely Steve!! That last line is stunning!!

  3. Love the "fickle as dying winds", Steve.

  4. The days we are in find many looking inward and many avoiding it. I love your ending "Listening in emptiness For what silence shall sing."

  5. I love the calm, measured and sure tone. This is a gem.