O, invisible silence, so hauntingly deep, you're a master of disguise.

O, invisible silence, you are like a sharpened knife, causing wounds invisible to the eyes.

The true beauty of poetry lies not in the words alone,
but in the inspiration that nature has sown.

A master of its own deceit.

You have to be odd
to be number one

perhaps you will
survive this cluster chaos
to create the lived life
you desire

perhaps

perhaps there is a
fine-toothed comb
to clear the nits from your
filaments,
nits placed there by ignorance
and nurtured with stupidity

perhaps

or

perhaps you will
discover your heart
instead -
plow it up from under
the brain’s deceit -
to reap the Love
you know you are

and always have been


c. 2023 Roberta Compton Rainwater