Soundless Echoes

Avoiding corners of mind,
silence creeps with shadowed footsteps into vacuous darkness,
knowing not why it roils,
why such quiet remains unfulfilled,

because of eyes that only see,
ears that only hear.

Mind

Where touch translates dialectal magic,

fragrance floats its translucent etchings,

taste remains the sour and sweet of lingual flavor,

where whispered vibrations quietly remind mute expressions
that the brush learns not the canvas save for pigment and oil,
nor does the melody of thought reach witness without song,

for one’s picture of life knows not restriction,

merely the unknown of ad infinitum.

So too

A pen without ink
is but a lonely vessel
adrift on an endless sea of synaptic waves and lightening,
where silence resides as temporary vacuum,

a temporary solace

unwilling to be the moment best left behind.

For

Soundless echoes drift toward days unchartered,
awaiting fleeting chances made conscious,

knowing awareness exists only if beckoned.