Can you imagine writing a poem in a soundless, white room?
Imagine reading that piece. Silently, of course.
Never could I imagine cooking with a palette of only one color. Without music.
My mouth would be swayed by my eyes. Happens sometimes with a poem, too. Pity.
Blank is not so bad
ReplyDeleteif the hill is snow
or the room is dark
and the full moon
has been and gone
Next morning the fire
that once was
is ash that is now
lean traces
of a good time
Not so bad the blank stare
if the eyes are still alive
and last time's closing
opened on a story
you couldn't wait to tell