She Sits in Silence Of a melting Burning, solstice strain As daggers of time pierce The fortitude of her wounds Tainting the purity of her Coherent thoughts, she sews her bruises With the sharp edge of poetic pressure. She Cannot Speak of hurt That runs too deep To articulate Is easy face to face Strength of words guides the lonely To ink pages with threads of breath Like the sweet comfort of long lost dreams The certainity of an absolute love. # Etheree poem.
Von Smith’s spontaneous response to my Etheree
A Silent End
He Stands by Listens For the first sounds Through winter's darkness Thinking of spring to come No longer feeling hope for now In scars of yesterday's failed dreams Though they bulge on his face flaming red He closes his eyes to the memories. He Freezes His impulse His first instinct To cry out in pain For all others to see When his inner dark chanting Leaves no trace of his cold sad path No tragic footprints they can follow To the edge of the cliff at his heart's end.