The Peace That Inner Silence Brings II
The Peace That Inner Silence Brings II
And though my poems prove valueless to men,
Woven in this dress of earthly life,
Poorly robed and sadly ill-defined
Still would I write these lines that drifting down
Like snow upon the silent floor of night
To honour the muses of eternity.
Unskilled as poet and undoubtedly no sage
I grasp the hem of thoughts that will not die.
I have no private cache of well-turned words
Or phrases to impress the literate fold
And I would borrow not from other’s gold
To speak the syllables that alter time.
Perhaps these thoughts are chimeras of mind
But only in my deeper self I find
The key to all our endless questionings
And reach the sun-strewn fields where my delight
Joins with all the grieving things of earth.
I see anew the world with second sight
And live the peace that inner silence brings.
