Читать книгу an inkstorm summoned under live oak we dreamed - daniel boonelight - Страница 13

for so long,

we have been trying

to put on these little recitals

where the purest wee melody

has a quiet little space

for itself and everyone

might gather together

to acknowledge it drowning

out the big world

it's strange and peculiar

how there's always

a noisey fusser who

cannot forgo the attention

and a clicking mass of summary

who always get it all wrong

love is so quiet

when ego and misunderstanding

are so loud