For me there is no sound


For me, there is no sound.

Your tender voice bounces off
Vacant walls of crumbling plaster.
Silence is an empty canvas where
The paint of your voice never sticks.

Your eyes tell me
Things I really need to know.
The soul’s windows;
Reflections of life and love,
Despair and Delight,
Weaving the threads of the world into
An intricate tapestry.

For me, there is a timbre to the words you speak.

Within the eloquence of your gaze,
The texture and colour of your words
Are brought forth with hands and face
As great strokes upon the canvas of my life.



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