14 Readings | 0 Ratings

The Witness

In the hour before they return

I finally hear the silence,

 

               and the moon

               as my witness –

 

one likes to know

the world

 

waits outside               their door

 

but in here

it’s just dust

 

rattling a megaphone,

 

my secret eye

painting the future’s history

 

in burgundy.  And I think of the forces

of oppression, and I pop my window                         open

 

on my ship in the night, because indeed

it is a fear

 

of one’s own private self

 

which creates the need

for impunity.  Were it not

 

for this overwhelming belief                in the public, the reality

of witness, like the moon

 

onto me, now –           I would not

 

                                                            love you…

 

 

 

Posted 12/04/18
Comments (0)
Would you like to leave a comment on this profile? Join Ink Node for a free account, or sign in if you are already a member.