To Be Who I Am

TO BE WHO I AM Here my pen lies idle, no thoughts abound I'm rendered in total silence without sound The heavy velvet drapes trap, as capturing Every motion of sound, caught a jabbering Stillness; now befalls this room cast in awe Melancholy; it writes, its own musical score Ebbing in and out; liken a tide on its shore It has no rhyme or reason, it's without law O how more we hear when gilded in silence How much more we see, given its guidance As this room rendered in its own darkness Hails me to a place beyond its own farness This connection between heaven and earth Thus find within myself, my own self-worth Others fail me, with the door being opened Thoughts lost, not to be written or spoken Indiana Shaw . . .