There is a message
 
In which I am rendered quite incapable of sending.
 
Too much of my soul spilling in ink and ether.
 
I spend my days feeling the pulse of time.
 
It occupies an expanse, blank and austere.
 
Time melts and drips into forgotten sands
 
That have become intoxicatingly melodious.
 
I drift through oceans of sleep.
 
When shall it be time?
 
 
 
I fear I far too much enjoy
 
The solitude which frantically screams
 
To ensure I listen to its maddening silence;
 
The many eyes intruding, irreverent.
 
And thus I walk amidst the haze
 
Of passing suns and moons,
 
As vapor, heavy and vexatious
 
Arrives to occupy my vacated mind.
 
Connection is difficult.
 
 
 
For when I gaze at such passersby
 
I look upon the architecture;
 
The stones of sacred construct
 
Catalyzing empires of beauty.
 
The opening channels of awareness
 
Leave me vulnerable
 
And often unapproachable.
 
For I become inarticulate,
 
Withholding and timid.
 
 
 
I swim in silence for ages
 
Forgetting I possess a voice.
 
For beings which are limbs
 
Of immaterial bodies
 
Perplex me in a mystery.
 
The tone of ancient words
 
Sailing beyond language
 
Leave me without breath,
 
And I wonder if they notice.
 
 
 
And for a particular one,
 
This incomprehensible connection
 
Guides me to the edge of the world;
 
The peaks which gaze upon the earth
 
And provide the echo
 
My fading voice would need
 
To send such a message.
 
 
 
Yet incapable I am rendered,
 
Too much of my soul spilling in love and ether.
 
And so I continue in the pulse of time,
 
Dripping into sands of sleeping
 
Until I could awaken,
 
And breathe a steady air
 
Over this tremulous vibration
 
So my elaborations could exist.
 
And as I drift through oceans of sleep,
 
I dream of emerald and laughter
 
Longing to end my silence.

(2012)

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Sparkle Poetics
almost 4 years

Thank you, imrogue.

Imrogue
about 4 years

i love this poem especially the part: "I swim in silence for ages. Forgetting I possess a voice...."

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