Eremitic life
I lay like the roots of Methuselah,silent and used to the surroundings,
Echoes of my hearts rhythm pounding breaking tempo,
As if sounding the alarm to my own existence,
Through thin walls,
Voices call to each other in narrow halls,
professing their need for the verbal volley,
and the blessings felt,
speaking to break ice til it eventually melts,
and that liquid between your fingers spell,
your moment of equillibrium,
But I stay mocking the Hare with my Tortoise glare,
When the door knocks,
my tune stays behind my tongue,
refusing it's vibration,
quaking in my celebration of the void,
through one sided sight all I avoid,
remains just paint in the outside landscape
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.