I Wonder If You Always Tell The Truth

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A seeker of silences am I.

Through furious-changing seasons I rest;

In snow and harvest find I reflection.

What voices call upon the wind,

In my reward of requiem,

To tell me of the death you have escaped.


A stranger to multitudes am I.

Whose ears cower not from shattering sound;

Whose head bends never to chattering mouths.

To you whom quiet has never touched,

Hold from judgement your lashing tongues,

Though be you ever such solace denied.


A lover in solitude am I.

Lighted by trembling stars and lantern moon;

Lying in full attitude of repose.

Then, who of you should seek myself,

Let he be led not to my door,

But wait, ‘til I, in Time’s own truth, return.