In silence
everything
is possible.
Our words,
enwombed,
could become
honey,
could sprout wings,
or (imagine)
could shape themselves
as just the right words
that fall out at just
the right time.
Or, perhaps,
it’s that silence
does the work
that words
can’t do,
linking us
to nothing,
which is
everything.
I give you
silence.
I especially like how you end this one, with that sort of reach out to the audience from the speaker’s platform.
The word “enwombed” is a curious one, and I see why “entombed” is not there, though I have to say it appears in my brain peripherally each time I read the line. I wonder if you could just modify “words” and make it “wombed words”?
Anyway, not to stick like a burr on this point, I like too the (imagine) interjection, which does so much to keep the poem speaking from silent stage.
There. Enough talk.
I really needed to read and read this, and to stop flapping my gums, and I like “enwombed.” I’m going to write that in my journal and let it, gestate. Thank you, dear friend.
oh friend, thanks for the feedback … i think it’s a real word, though i thought i had made it up when i first wrote it
Debussy: “Music is the silence between the notes.”
Of course, Alison Krauss singing the Overstreet/Schlitz song, “(You Say It Best) When You Say Nothing At All.” (…Old Mr Webster could never define/what’s being said between your heart and mine…)
Those moments when, “There are no words.” Too, “Words get in the way.” And, finally(?), what is it that’s golden…?
So right on , that Schlitz song … So golden it is