Stop the Press

Quality Freelance Journalist



The Silent Sound

Posted on August 5, 2018 at 5:55 AM

I am struggling with these feet of wet clay


Born from and artists hand, I am mud


I am a monument of startled creation

And I am a voyeur with no solid sound.

I hear the chisel and the tick-tock

I see the men busy at the dock and the cleaners and their mop,

I hear the song of those that long

And the vultures and the bores,

This, the drama, and the score.

My heart is heavy with them all.


Munch; Luther and Matisse,

thus I fret and curse

then I struggle with my purse


And my fist must pound down

and it does so, without a sound.


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