The Quiet Place
A conscience that never blinks, Under a darting gaze And hands on flesh, And things that distract the fingertips. Blinkless, Breathless, Beatless, What hums quietly in our beings Like some golden river In which we are just a little fleck. That quiet place inside I’m making noise — Trying to give it words When it wants to be Formless And sentenceless And soundless It is waiting for the rooms of me to hush
Blinkless conscience, Not even coiled, Not even sitting, Not even waiting, Just. While I fumble with what I can see and feel, It beckons me to the invisible, And we like to think it nudges us with Winks And fate and magic. But that is just us becoming undone, Stripped of ourselves, Bored of our thoughts, Tired of our little fires. Just there, Under tears And gnashing Woven between cries The pure nothing I try to wrap myself around To grasp and hold And summon into being. Breathless, Blinkless, Beastless, It is a silent surrender That took lifetimes. We are not man Or woman Or animal Anymore.
Poem interpreted by AI on Midjourney