Untitled
Bob Ludden
http://www.essex1.com/people/robert/
A time of silence...and of rising mist
That blurs and then obscures
That paste of leaf and rain that glazes ground
Still soft beneath the frost of late November
And I remember other times when mists of mind
Impose a wall so deep and steep in shadow
That which is real becomes encast in stone
And silence thunders at an empty soul
...and then the question turns the thing around
...and wonder, now the agent of release.
Both wall and ice are temporal,
And the sound of silence the evangelist of peace.
A mist...a secret prayer...
Both cloud, and both disclose
A vision strange to make us question still...
And still...and still..
