The Peace In Nothing

I gained an insight into moonlight
And a reason for the stars

The reflection in your eyes was true
The moonlight and the stars were blue
For ever lasting image burned
Whether in the sky or memory learned

I found connections in the beats of hearts
And the turning of the sky

The pulsating rhythm of your soul
The passing day, these make me whole
For history made cannot be gone
Whether all the world or from just one

I learned new pathways through this time
And the knowledge of now

The passing ghosts remain indeed
The ghosts now have no need to bleed
For when surpassed no frame will bend
Whether crumbling mind, no time will end

I stopped to hear the passage of nothing
And the peace in nothing

©2004 Hey Hey

I had just posted my latest sonnet and stepped back to have a look at it, and was delighted to find this here.

Thank you, my friend, for your exquisite poetry, and for sharing it with us here. This one touches my heart especially; it speaks to the idea of how good it is not to be alone when we are sick and hurting. I am so glad you have Miriam, and I am so glad I have Silke. Our wives would never put up with the abuse which their husbands endure on a daily basis here on this board, would they?

*sigh*

My dear friend, the road is long... and who knows where it ends? All I know is I want to end my days with the one I love, and with my friends. Let the frustrated f**k themselves. Keep writing, and I will too. We will be kind to the kind, and I'll be a bit of a little bastard in my sonnets, as ever; on that one may always depend (and my readers depend on it too; it is one of the reasons they read me). If someone is mean to us, let them know they will probably end up in a sonnet. They should pay me for the privilege. As for me, I give my very self to this mad quest, "costing not less than everything."

I have so many emails to answer, there are so many wonderful poems on the board, I have to answer kind--emphasis KIND--reviews on AuthorsDen; I had better go now and perhaps I will be back with another sonnet for Silke later; I hope so. But we mustn't waste any more time worrying about people who hate us. I think they hate us precisely because we are not bad poets. In any case, I know we are not "twits." (Does he mean that as some sort of anti-English slur? Who knows? Maybe it's a "hate crime"!)

Cheers and everbest, my dear friend. Get some good rest now, and do greet Miriam for me.