I couldn’t get my inspiration in gear today so I rewrote a poem from a few years ago. It seemed better when I changed it a little.
I Will Sing You A Silent Song
Where is my joy?
In the quiet songs
deep in the pattern of wood grain.
Talk is my fear.
Words are ripped from my thoughts
by idiot devils
shredding of bits with their jabbering claws.
When I talk,
The music is no longer
in a night full of cricket buzz,
your hand just touching the back of my neck.