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When I wait for words to come
and they refuse,
I know that silence is golden
and spreads its early morning sunlight
across the breakfast table
where yellow butter melts on hot toast.

Light from the rose window in Chartres
once spread its spectrum over my hands
and I bathed in its speckled glow.

My fingers stretched out before me
and I was speechless;
for in such glory,
mortal things like words cease to flow.

So much can never be said
even if it is sensed: fresh coffee,
poutine à pain, bread baking,
flowers bursting into bloom,

the sense of immanent beauty that fills me
when a butterfly lands on a flower in bloom,
or each time my beloved enters the room.

6 thoughts on “Silence

    • No problem. We are the silent ones, the troubled ones, the all-seeing ones, the gifted ones. Sometimes we lose our way. We are the ones who help each other find ourselves and our own sweet ways. Let me know if I can help. Hang in there and blessings.


  1. Love it Roger. You just keep getting better and better. I also know the frustration of words that don’t come but mine is mostly because I’ve forgotten them. Now I’ll have to follow your direction and find a way to turn the frustration into something other than loneliness. Have a lovely day — and if you have sunshine today enjoy some of it for me. We are once again in monsoon season and under flash flood watch.

    Liked by 1 person

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