Member-only story
Silence Is
A Scimitar.
I can’t see behind your mind,
Nor read your reveries,
I sit here and wonder,
About what I cannot see.
Silence is a scimitar,
And cuts deep as a knife,
One day, you are lost at sea,
The next, you are my wife.
Enigmatic energies,
Secrets spelt in silence,
I don’t have the key to you,
Nor do I have the license.
When I wonder who you are,
I barely know myself,
Here one day, gone the next,
History repeats itself.
The riddle is a recipe,
For fabulous falsehood,
Did you make up the story,
If not, I think you should.
So here I am, part of the scam,
That some say such is life,
Peter plays the piano,
Felix plays the fife.
The music is a mystery,
The clues are so arcane,
Now, the hidden agony,
Swirls around in my brain.
Ask me if there is an end,
Or how long is the string,
Something enigmatic,
Hope can eternally spring.
©
David Rudder
2024
Thank you for reading this piece and my poetry.
