A Silent Place

This is a silent place:
No song, no sky. Only flowers.
Perhaps the sleepers can hear you dream.
I bring you memories we cannot share.
And the kiss I can give only to the cold.

Happy hours; perhaps even days might have been.
The stillness, the peace of a light nearly dark
That may ensnare in the lone chill
With its calm upon ground stained by tears.

No tomorrow; no today—
Only a stirring of the breath that was—
An echo that sings, if only we might hear.
Midnights sail; but no moon finds your eyes.

The stars must be beautiful where you lie—
Always falling in tears of light that dried long ago,
Woven by the dark that haunts your dance,
Caged in this globe of quiet winter.

This is a silent place:
The wind does not whisper, and nothing sings.
Only the dawn-mist webs are sighing 'neath clouds that do not speak,
Though there is thunder, all is pungently still—
Perhaps the sleepers can hear you weep.

© 2018 Marten Hoyle