While the world roars let a mild taciturnus overturn,
The way you move silent in the soft slow as we learn
You wear a habit of withholding speech in a stillness,
That chooses not to break itself, in sound, drips bless,
Open it gently w/you the gentle word in you unfolds,
Close your full a hand round something warm holds,
Something wants nothing can't survive lips of change
I look into your eyes what language beauty in a range
The noise of being loud too much for what’s inside us
When it matters more than a weary word can say fuss
The speech cheapens the thing, flatten it bare & found,
In your bones barefoot feet that barely touch a ground
Pressure, deep water holding its shape, despite a form
O protect a meaning feed her lips that open in a storm,
Not walls but soft barriers move us close bursting thru
Wait ... the word kisses your sky makes a world of you
2d ago
Jun 3, 2026 at 7:04 AM UTC
While the world roars let a mild taciturnus overturn,
The way you move silent in the soft slow as we learn
You wear a habit of withholding speech in a stillness,
That chooses not to break itself, in sound, drips bless,
Open it gently w/you the gentle word in you unfolds,
Close your full a hand round something warm holds,
Something wants nothing can't survive lips of change
I look into your eyes what language beauty in a range
The noise of being loud too much for what’s inside us
When it matters more than a weary word can say fuss
The speech cheapens the thing, flatten it bare & found,
In your bones barefoot feet that barely touch a ground
Pressure, deep water holding its shape, despite a form
O protect a meaning feed her lips that open in a storm,
Not walls but soft barriers move us close bursting thru
Wait ... the word kisses your sky makes a world of you
The way of a taciturn life is too much for most of us, but every now and then I meet, I see, the unheard silence in a person who dares to step inside the word less spoken and lets the beauty lie in what we don't say but in the way the eyes hold a thought, the lips pout, even the hand has its stay, and in that language of the moon, we push the absence into more.
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