Sunday, June 6, 2010

In a Silent House

The wind speaks its mind, the walls can't agree
But something is conveyed, in things that pass.
A ghost rocks the chair, a laughter we must bear in the air

How the effects we have caused were no hitch at all
To the ways pieces fall into place.
It's just how the classroom is arranged.

In flesh we can't see those precise symmetries,
They seem like our own sad mistakes, chaos, waste
But the bell rings the lessons, home to the past.

And the path is always freedom, to the order of things.
It glistens but does not change, for all our rearrangements.
The center moves no less than the one inside of us.

It's a shifting of sorts, the dream of a door,
A tremble in the sheer window dressings
Like the trembling at the far end of the void.

What knowledge can come with these consolations?
A twin that goes silent, filling our shadows,
A sound out of nowhere, owning our hearts.