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May 2015
I know how to ask the questions —
asking isn’t the problem.

Listening is easy —
just be still.

Is it there?
In her shrill voice in the twilight
in the bark below my window
in the cry next door —
of exultation, of pain, of sorrow, of life
why am I silent?

In my own mind
I have answers
to questions not yet asked,
for fear of death or deep despair.

Do you know where I wander
when my eyes are glazed
and my scowl is set
it’s foreign there
would you follow?
would anyone follow?
why won’t anyone follow?

Where are the answers?
Written by
Steven Fried
279
   Gary L and ---
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