By the contours of eyes
that tastes the beat
of the cardinal's vice,
my heart listened
like the draping’s of an eyeless wager,
inaudibly changing your nervous still.
But angel or devil,
and I being neither
nor the cherub of envy
that life was taunting us bigger.
Bigger than being alone,
that calm was inevitably gone to waste.
Was the virtue of singlehandedly
gathering sweet dreams
and packaging them by the bale of meek lacings,
not sweet at all?
I sold my dreams
like the joints of a sundry slave.
Selfishly appraising the shape of pride,
that played the jeer to the amoretti.
But angel or devil
and I being the same,
That wind drew blue,
and cold echoings encircled.
Scott J. Shepard
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-speaking-to-silence/
