An Epiphany on The Cycle of Silence.

Silence prints collage. But I notice the mangled variation of noise always in a scamper.
In splinters and torrential chasm of hush less voices,
Subtle voices tread the paths of the soul – a mighty cold grave
Or a cloudy sun of young lilies lilting on the hidden shores.
Wet hills spangle horror from the intense discomfort of my assail,
Leaving me in a leash of poisoned dictates of the land.
Where words bow to the laughter or sadness of the soil,
Yet in the collective eye of the confluence of streams of water,
Lies the untraceable virgin kingdom, steeped to it’s essence.

I feel the withering weight of my tempest,
The hidden uproar of timid nature’s ambivalent art seeping from
My shrapnel reservoir of blood.It is in the eyes of love.
The expressionless longing for the passion of ages,
When the chaos thunder under the slightest whim,
And the inflammation of unrequition bombards
The clustered layers of the heart into disgruntlement.
But the silence,Implants serenity. Those lush hopes that ripple the body with power.

It was in the residence of my dreams and reality,
That the perfection of solitude was born.
Of what importance was communication?
How sheer were the tangles of my patches from my stumbles and falls from my plodding?
If the patterns peace of self remained elusive.
There was the competition of my blooming loneliness,
There were the brazen heights of light riding on the sunken pores of my skin.
as the average contempt of my undone gait,
Purposely stuck in the fortress of my illusions,
And outlined such shady roses that charred my feet.

Silence. It was born from the depths of the open fields and remote darkness.
And with the mind of a warrior, lanced itself in the infinitesimal universe,
Full of glow, that tickled the fragrance of sanctity.
Ah! from harmonious spells of new pints of life,
From gaily winds to gaily winds, wafting into infallibility.
It spawned from the halls of my soul,
And effortlessly prized itself as my harbour, my mine and river.
So I mingle with water, soil and air,
For the mixture intoxicates the thickets of my system with music –
The spell of solitude, the beauty of silence.

© Eddy Ongili 2014

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