Writing is talking.
Reading is a living conversation.
Hey! Any shred of news
Perused in time and space is 
The same as talking,
Don’t you think?
But famous words are silent.
The famous do not talk.
The living conversation
Happens in the cheapest newspaper or book;
You can chatter in reading, even though you are reading silently.
But when silence reads silence,
When words long dead speak truth still living,

When words stare at you, but say nothing,
Then you stare at them in the stunned

Hush of what must be death;
The psalms and commandments and poems
Of those who out-faced sorrow in desert
Cold, and in silent mountain scenes,
Chill you like cold mountain streams
Curling through your soul continuously.
Talk is done.  All that remains are dreams.


1 Comment

  1. HarpyBait said,

    June 12, 2012 at 12:42 pm

    What a wonderful poem!

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