Doodle

In the night

flower color

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A Poem in Emily Dickinson Style

Silence is an empty pot—–

the Mind consumes the Vacancy—

It shudders in Fear?

or Fear shudders in It. 

do you acknowledge.

the mutters for Help—

Yet, it won’t consume

the Silence. 

the Silence will consume Us.

It won’t be heard—

a bird, will perch

upon the Foundation—

the mind’ll quake.

as Our thoughs come

this Mind is Fake.

its feeble and—

the bird Reflects in the 

Lake, are We Mad?

or is Madness, Us.

Are you scantily clad,

or are those rosemary beads 

slipping in that Crack

Don’t catch Them—

let them go and

dissipate, see—

in that Pit. 

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