sometimes poetry rhymes

Grave stone

Silence is a thing my tongue knows how to say
while I am practicing my art of the alone –
my heart and shadowed self love every gray

turning path where feet have marked the way
from night to dawn, to sun, past creek and stone.
Their silence is a thing my tongue knows how to say

to dusky forms that sleep through all the May
fogs and whisperings of buried bone.
My heart and shadowed self love every gray

turn of phrase the ground hides from the day –
the murmur of the deep down and unknown
whose silence is a thing my tongue knows how to say.

And all the searching hands that stray
from mine, they noiselessly intone
that my heart and shadowed self love every gray

closing of the eyes and every way
to sleep against the grain of the alone.
My heart and shadowed self love every gray
silence – a thing my tongue knows how to say.

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3 Responses

  1. Love the intricate structure of this, and yet it flows with meaning…nicely done.

    • Thanks! After I wrote this, I was afraid that the repetition was too much, despite the fact that it is what defines a villanelle in the first place. Glad to hear that you think it works.

  2. Nice. I like the imagery and the lines.

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