To really come to know a place,
You must first understand its silence.
During the grey hours.
A cathedral at dusk,
A temple at dawn.
An ancient hotel before
The throngs descend.
A mountain you climb to the top,
And then forget to fly off.
A pier that draws you near.
What you realize is,
The silence isn't real.
The murmurs of prior lives deafen,
The quiet devoured.
During the grey hours.
I love the concept of
'The murmur of prior lives'
I believe I have felt this in several places now that your poem has drawn my attention to it.
Thank you, Holden.
Thank you, Holden. 'The grey hours' is a wonderful notion.
If you wish to post a comment you must login.
This site uses only functional cookies that are essential to the operation of the site. We do not use cookies related to advertising or tracking. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.
Holden Moncrieff
Thu 10th Feb 2022 03:18
Thank you so much for your kind comments, Stephen and John, they are always appreciated! 😊