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.
