Patterns
For one who moves in uncertainty, this
flower, the petals of which
gently fade, as if reason
is found in the decline of beauty
and its comforts.
But all you touch remains
touched. If silence reveals the body
of music, what can be said of darkness? Words
appear motionless until they blossom, a
pattern seldom seen yet carried to us in
all manner of conveyance. Listen,
for there is no purer voice.
Let the earth speak.
“Patterns” first appeared here in March, 2015, and again in June 2016. I wrote it 30-some years ago, placed it in a folder and promptly forgot it.
O at the Edges 
Words fail me.
I am listening!
❤
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Thank you, Carrie!
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“But all you touch remains touched.”
A sobering thought.
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Not all touches are bad.
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“But all you touch remains touched.” – suggests your poem touched you … not really forgotten.
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Well, I did recognize it once I pulled it out of the file. Ha!
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As music comes from silence does darkness come from light or can it only be a fading of light? “All you touch remains touched” Reminds me a little of Barton Smock’s “Everything i touch remembers being my hand.”
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Perhaps you should write a poem to explore your question. 🙂
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O but why? It’s not fair y’know i hate writing poetry; can’t you just write it for me? haha.
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Get yer lazy butt in gear, son! I say this knowing you are as lazy as the amiable ethnomusicologist, which means you are working even when you’re not.
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Aye aye captain Okaji. I’ll jump on it astride haste.
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It’s a good thing you found it again
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No telling what’ll fall out of those old folders!
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And let the earth speak through you…
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I think the earth does fine on its own. 🙂
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I was beginning to wilt Bob. I listened and my inner nature said ‘go play’! Peeking back up.
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