Becoming a philosopher

This was written a while ago but it is one of my favourites and I thought for my first piece I would share it with you. I would really like some feedback. Opinions and critique are much appreciated.

Liquid black sweats from pen to paper.
The wise woman, her soul opaque.
Judgemental eyes sear through her mind.

 

Nothing.

 

The clock continues to click.
The years continue to pass by gently.
But no words may she utter.
No knowledge great enough to be spoken...
...to be heard.

 

She has one thought whilst one has one million.
Though her thought much deeper, more concise, comprehended.

Scratching the surface of intellect.
A breakthrough.

One thought incomplete and broken,
damaged by years of abuse.
A sigh that would rattle Shakespeare's bones.

 

Silence.

 

Clocks ticking near but far away,
While in her mind she becomes a philosopher.

Author's Note

I'm more interested in what you think of the content of the poem than I am of any typo mistakes, although everything and any comments are appreciated.

I'd like to know what image of this woman you get. She isn't described but how do you imagine her to be?

I'd also like to know if you feel I could improve on this poem? How?

Thank you <3

Reviews

[Kinsey]

I like the feeling of this poem. I'm not "exactly" sure what it means, but I'll give my interpretation. I see the woman as filled with purpose and expectation. While others concentrate on many things, she has one idea, or possibly ideal. That idea was born of years of pain, pain which has given her more wisdom than learned philosophers.
I'm probably REALLY far off, but that was the image that came to mind.

[DevinPerkins]

I agree with Ethan Paz. Simply truthful and wonderful.

[Ethan Paz]

I think I get it than again I don't think I get it. I'm thinking it's better to keep words to yourself or wise is the person who contemplates about life. Anyways good job. Pretty interesting.