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harlon-riversPoems
Silence speaks — its say beheld in its own truth laid bare Its voice is deeply felt but rarely revealed in the tight economy of considered words it quietly whispers — The reality it bares, soundlessly eroding with a shameless emotional deluge that rivers through the poet's heart When you feel alone in a crowded room, you overhear the drone a racing heartbeat ...     When you're going down the road feeling bad,  chasing     the centerline, reckoning some kind a life passing by out the rolled down        window ; hearken in nature's      tone poems blowin' in the wind                                                                 ­     It  was  thence     i came to know my sum of simple truth: Organically self-wrought Environmentally  molded     from the clay of life     a survivor of many     a passing storm     Season's change, water seeks its own level The silt does not get to say how far down stream    the river carries it and we still wind up in the same old place parsing the watermark         stains of time and a poet — is not a word i'll longer use to describe    who i've become harlon rivers ... December 7th, 2018
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Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 2:49 PM UTC
Who i've become
Silence speaks — its say beheld in its own truth laid bare Its voice is deeply felt but rarely revealed in the tight economy of considered words it quietly whispers — The reality it bares, soundlessly eroding with a shameless emotional deluge that rivers through the poet's heart When you feel alone in a crowded room, you overhear the drone a racing heartbeat ...     When you're going down the road feeling bad,  chasing     the centerline, reckoning some kind a life passing by out the rolled down        window ; hearken in nature's      tone poems blowin' in the wind                                                                 ­     It  was  thence     i came to know my sum of simple truth: Organically self-wrought Environmentally  molded     from the clay of life     a survivor of many     a passing storm     Season's change, water seeks its own level The silt does not get to say how far down stream    the river carries it and we still wind up in the same old place parsing the watermark         stains of time and a poet — is not a word i'll longer use to describe    who i've become harlon rivers ... December 7th, 2018
blessings, Harlon Rivers
#invisible#rivers
harlon-rivers
Written by
harlon-rivers
M/Edge of the woods
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 2:49 PM UTC
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