Stalemate

I have no words, nor patterns left

To spill, my dear,

No facile quotes, no wisdom

To dispense,

Nor any careless answers at

My time of year

All that was lost, or sold,

Or buried, spent.

 

All gone; the well is dry, the depths

I tried to reach

Devoured me long before

I found you there,

I lent with empty gestures

What I thought to teach,

And questioned truth, if even truth

Could care.

 

So what is left; a feeling we

May not express,

While I doubt more and more

This arabesque,

That you find comfort now

More in my tardiness,

While I take heart at questions

You don't ask.

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Raven Starhawk]

Upon reading this I am greeted with a sense of familiarity. I might have spelled something wrong in that sentence but forgive me. Anyway I like how this slowly descends into something fresh and original. I was expecting something other than the above stream of genius but I am happy to say that it was a pleasant surprise.