The Peace That Inner Silence Brings II

1/28/08

And though my poems prove valueless to men,

Woven in this dress of earthly life,

Poorly robed and sadly ill-defined

Still would I write these lines that drifting down

Like snow upon the silent floor of night

To honour the muses of eternity.

Unskilled as poet and undoubtedly no sage

I grasp the hem of thoughts that will not die.

I have no private cache of well-turned words

Or phrases to impress the literate fold

And I would borrow not from other's gold

To speak the syllables that alter time.

Perhaps these thoughts are chimeras of mind

But only in my deeper self I find

The key to all our endless questionings

And reach the sun-strewn fields where my delight

Joins with all the grieving things of earth.

I see anew the world with second sight

And live the peace that inner silence brings.