I could not speak,
So I dipped my soul in ink.
I could not feel,
So I hunted throughout
The land of music.
I could not see,
So I prayed
Within the deepest temples
Of Gods gardens.
Like so I listened
To my rose,
From a thousand miles away.
I could not speak,
So I dipped my soul in ink.
I could not feel,
So I hunted throughout
The land of music.
I could not see,
So I prayed
Within the deepest temples
Of Gods gardens.
Like so I listened
To my rose,
From a thousand miles away.
My elegy births a war
Though it conceived
An idea of hope.
And we wondered,
‘What was beautiful?’ ,
Growing through the loom
Of a departed life.
What was beautiful?
It was hope,
To be free of wants
And profits of our souls.
And come to me truth,
Even as the sweetest sorrow,
That a morning
May be free tomorrow.
A stanza for thought.