… yes, silence.

By J. K. McDowell.

December 2015.

 

For the fire, the burning is everything. The flames

Will never know the cotton’s softness and the

Unspun fibers are blind to the flickering colors.

 

Warm curves among a thread count in the eighteen

Hundreds and yet somehow the naked softness

Of your dreams is the attraction. Poetry is real.

 

Kindness is not softness, rather the hammer

That nails you to The Cross. A salvation against

The answers to violence from all directions.

 

In secret, I crave the softness of your presence.

The effervescence of a fresh bottle of Brut

Opened before the party. Yes, diamonds are hard.

 

Much has happened before the sword is drawn.

Ore chiseled from the mine – the furnace reveals

The softness of the steel – the wheel its sharpness and shine.

 

James, sometimes a poem must end in softness.

There is the commiseration of words on a page,

Voices always ending in silence – yes, silence.

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