Dear Silence, you woke me this morning, like you always do. why do you do that?
You have been a friend among vipers, the world that does not tolerate genius- but envies the mind that it can never read, the heart it will never love and the wings it will never lend wind to.
I do this on my own. I have never felt more alone.
You make me isolated, so I've named you. I've given you a voice, an identity to recognize you by- in all honesty, I do not know how one goes about the world happy, with a backpack slung over their shoulder, kicking the dust of a million miles of past from their shoes- or is it the residue of memory?
I remember, mother praying in her garden- and I, standing beside could never enter that internal rest. Does she rest more now? with you in the tomb.
How do you do this? tolerate the wind- Tolerate the lonesome whistle of a train speeding through a town you had wrapped in sleep- Through a night you had agreed to share only with the crickets.
How do you wake? and how do you dream? do you ask yourself? or do you pray for stillness? are you the epitome? of need. Amberlee Carter
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