Silence is not always a want or a need but more
a way of life—lately, I have wondered about romance,
the grace in how a ship changes direction. How from
the shore seems effortless, slow in its about face
on an ocean slide. The rutters firm in its attempt
to control the forces of waters discomfort.
Wanting is easier than not it appears
that neither happen in a big way—like hope,
it is not the first place I thought to consider.
I came here to listen. I can hear them when
waves roll up onto the shore—weightless
it invites me in. I understand it when pebbles speak,
How long can we survive this chattering against
one and other?
They speak until they are sand.
In a revolution [forwards—backwards]
without an axis I Imagine, living in a different currency.
Behind every romance is war and genocide, a rule
unlike the rivers glitter and babble. Its union between
ice and salt is giving life.
About the Creator
Gerry Thibeault
aspiring poet working on his first chapbook of poetry...
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