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The Silent Sound

Posted on August 5, 2018 at 5:55 AM



I am struggling with these feet of wet clay

 

Born from and artists hand, I am mud

 

I am a monument of startled creation


And I am a voyeur with no solid sound.


I hear the chisel and the tick-tock


I see the men busy at the dock and the cleaners and their mop,


I hear the song of those that long


And the vultures and the bores,


This, the drama, and the score.


My heart is heavy with them all.

 

Munch; Luther and Matisse,


thus I fret and curse


then I struggle with my purse

 

And my fist must pound down


and it does so, without a sound.


 

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