Notions whispered into my mind - unheard.
They're just hot-injected scraps of feeling.
I seek a source in floor, wall, and ceiling,
but I know that can only be absurd.
This is no exchange by grammar or words -
nothing is concealed or needs concealing.
Notions whispered into my mind - unheard.
They're just hot-injected scraps of feeling -
like the voiceless notes of a little bird,
received without a chirp or any squealing.
Wounds don't need to hear they should start healing.
The feeling 's clear even when the meaning 's blurred.
Notions whispered into my mind, unheard.
This entry was posted in mind, poem, Poetry and tagged 13-line Rondeau, mind, poem, poetry, Rondeau by B Gourley. Bookmark the permalink.
