[I have been in space and time where and when my dazed thoughts were made of vacuum. Words dared not enter there. There was existence, consciousness and vacuum. No prose, no poetry. May be prose was first to make appearance and much later in a stable form was poetry.]
Do I mourn
in prose
or in poem?
it’s salty wordlessness-
while each cell is
the cathedral spire of Notre Dame;
my house of prayer within
is in flame-
do I go to
prose or to poem?
it’s salty wordlessness-
neither a long howl
nor a sigh-
it’s always wordlessness-
salty-
Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Writing Prose @ Poets United
sumanar/lekha 