a thoughted beast,
neither poet, nor man,
let his words construct themselves.
without a care to show
on sheet or screen, (let them),
no need to be, or grow.
with arms to forget
under closing eyes,
with a prize of
only silence,
like the shushing grass,
unaware
of even its green.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
a thoughted beast,
neither poet, nor man,
let his words construct themselves.
without a care to show
on sheet or screen, (let them),
no need to be, or grow.
with arms to forget
under closing eyes,
with a prize of
only silence,
like the shushing grass,
unaware
of even its green.
Request permission to use this poem