“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Thursday, March 15, 2018
Professor
He spoke of the same humbling
Revelation
As if he had just learned it
himself
forgetting he had said this
every time I met him-
The first time
it was
news (to me)
Now, he says
it as Truth.
It may be so
fascinating, even true, however,
there are reasons
it is
he will never know.
Image credit by Metropolitan Museum of Art [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Drizzle
The muse has been muted while we are both listening for some reason- we have both observed; Profound is not discovery, Epiphany is no certa...
-
Natures touch is both gentle and fierce. Homo sapiens trample on her back. The thick skin impossible to pierce. So...
-
A year ago this May, in fact, upon this same very grey day- something came over me I found could say, in no other way but to portray, ...
-
Sun lifting the veil of purple sky- might bronze forge strength pungent as the turned dirt? Thirsting through exposition, hi...

No comments:
Post a Comment