A seeker of silences am I.
by James Whitworth
Through furious-changing seasons I rest;
In snow and harvest find I reflection.
What voices call upon the wind,
In my reward of requiem,
To tell me of the death you have escaped.
A stranger to multitudes am I.
Whose ears cower not from shattering sound;
Whose head bends never to chattering mouths.
To you whom quiet has never touched,
Hold from judgement your lashing tongues,
Though be you ever such solace denied.
A lover in solitude am I.
Lighted by trembling stars and lantern moon;
Lying in full attitude of repose.
Then, who of you should seek myself,
Let he be led not to my door,
But wait, ‘til I, in Time’s own truth, return.