s!lence
for a while i was thinking if i should publish some of my past words here, or remain in private a trancient recluse. i decided there is no point in writing stuff that people won't read on any given day, or even make sense out of; but there is a good certain silence that comes from reading words that may provide some remedy for one's heart. even if it were only for my own one's heart to seek refuge.
i was in high school grade nine, the year is nineteenninetyseven, prolly in the late summer/fall. i write:
[ it is late. the rain falls softly, and a single lamp shines through the darkness. the silhouettes of the trees dancing to the wind. for once, the peace of night brings pleasure to the heart, and healing to the soul.
on such a night, a solitary face peers out of a window, awake when all is asleep. he hears the rain, but cannot see it; he notices the single lamp all by itself, and looks around for other lamps, but they're all distant. this face, with blind eyes and deaf ears, watches the night sky for stars, but is received with only the shroud of the clouds. the moon is nowhere to be seen.
disappointed, the face expresses a pensive visage, a countenance full of thought. he looks into the expanse--wondering, pondering, remembering. tranquility does not calm the heart of pain, and does not ease the loneliness, the frustration, and the restlessness.
it is late. the rain patters silently, almost to a stop. the lamp ceases to shine, and the solitary face is greeted with shadows in the deafening silence. ]
i was in high school grade nine, the year is nineteenninetyseven, prolly in the late summer/fall. i write:
[ it is late. the rain falls softly, and a single lamp shines through the darkness. the silhouettes of the trees dancing to the wind. for once, the peace of night brings pleasure to the heart, and healing to the soul.
on such a night, a solitary face peers out of a window, awake when all is asleep. he hears the rain, but cannot see it; he notices the single lamp all by itself, and looks around for other lamps, but they're all distant. this face, with blind eyes and deaf ears, watches the night sky for stars, but is received with only the shroud of the clouds. the moon is nowhere to be seen.
disappointed, the face expresses a pensive visage, a countenance full of thought. he looks into the expanse--wondering, pondering, remembering. tranquility does not calm the heart of pain, and does not ease the loneliness, the frustration, and the restlessness.
it is late. the rain patters silently, almost to a stop. the lamp ceases to shine, and the solitary face is greeted with shadows in the deafening silence. ]
-lx c.
