Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Reflection (OctPoWrimo Entry #14)


The quiet comes,
muffling, shuffling into
a silence that nonetheless
holds words, herds of wounded
wonderings, the shell-shocked
exclamations, explanations
that sound only in the  
absence of noise,
poise undone
by solitude, a
perfect freedom,
a hedonistic exercise
in honesty. 

For we are liars all, skin and
bone and the petty perfumes we
dab at wrist and ear and on our tongue.

It is expected.
It is done.

And when it is done,
we sink into ourselves,
wash clean.

Poet's Note:  The 14th prompt was to explore silence.

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