Even when I’m not speaking,
the world listens.
When I try to speak
and the words reverberate
off sun-scorched, jagged peaks,
and sail down to dried up rivers below,
and bounce in the emptiness
of my head that knows
the world is listening.
There is no quality of
judgement, the ears,
soft and receptive.
We are finding fault in others,
and deep, deep within,
a gash of torn hopes.
But the world is listening
through our sad cries
and all our lashing out,
the world is loving,
and has never stopped
I’ve just had this poem published on The Plum Tree Tavern – I hope you enjoy!
We Came Back
by Tammy T. Stone
A prior world of raucous sounds we
Made, riots of clanging bells but also
Hushed caress. Where each tenderness
Melted like snow a river gone by, anger
Whipped loud, and everything that could,
Happened. But it still wasn’t enough, so
Here we are, marking our cold re-entry in
Soundless, everlasting space, coursing
Through the warring bits, all of it a kind
Of alchemy we’re not here to understand.
We’re here to listen, though we don’t.
It can only start from here, the beating
Heart. The rhythm of palpation, how we
Wandered for years to get here. Times
I rest in that pause, shivering, bone dry,
Waiting for an outstretched hand. This is
How I learned music can be touched. The
Sweet sounds that have made us and the
Ache of memories trailing through Time.
We are ruffled and ravaged. The world as
Sonorous Remembrance, reverberating in a
Thousand ways a feared, desired emptiness.
I try as hard as I can to listen to each note,
Devastating, beautiful, inchoate and true.