by contemplativeinquiry

How could I dare to wear a poet’s face

In this brave world in which I find myself?

Wherever would I find a friendly space

To put on this identity and keep my health?

I find it easier far to think and read

And wonder at the magic of the word:

I’ll hold back from the effort I would need

To generate the chance of being heard.


And yet the hope refuses quite to die

Of shaping sound and silence into form.

In spite of everything perhaps I’ll try –

Enabling something in me to be born;

Disdaining judgement by the scrutineers of art,

I’ll lean upon the wisdom of the heart.