Blood flows into the rivers, Into tree roots, into flowers That bloom and speak Into our deafness.
Unheard melodies Of souls sting, Harmonious voices, Of the dying, sing A song into the wind that reeks Of never ending dusk. Somewhere. Far away. Somewhere within, we fear The truth, yet We choose to bind ourselves to the Stillness in tension.
I am so sorry that it has taken me so long to respond to your very evocative and well written poem. I have been in hospital and away from my computer, so this is the first I am seeing of your submission.
Your poem is tight, well-composed and offers us a very strong sense of the “tension” you speak of. Good job. And, thank you so very much for sharing it with me, Susan
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