Of Silence, In Words

The potter’s hands; if only I could shape silence, somehow,

In moulds of imagination, coaxed into reality

Or perceptions collective, beyond the periphery of fantasy,

A vindication, a void, or a momentary revelry in ecstasy?

Words, do they masquerade as bridges

Between the islands - you and I;

Withhold what, from whom, in million words untold,

Your promises of nigh, or countless cindered sighs?

Words - are they then a mapping, a function,

A manifestation, collating expression and perception;

Sight, would you deem it then, the underlying

Extension, to paint the perfect vision?

Two ancient rafts, drifting in the tide of time,

Dying embers, of hope, victims of exactitude;

The see-saw life, its musical chairs,

And silence echoes in this valley of solitude.