Words felt

The madman I saw him un-wear his watch for a week For telling it was 1pm when to him it was 1300h, Like a father grounding his son for a mischievous solecism. He took his shoes off claiming they cut off  his intimacy with the ground His clothes suffered malicious tears from him  so that he could let more sun rays in He never once laved  for he pitied the micro-life that clung to him He followed the wind wherever it took him, And returned with it so faithfully  Like a wave in the sea he was tossed about  in his grandeur thoughtfulness, A thoughtfulness he’d give his mind, and soul, and life... He was a man with more thoughts than actions, More dreams than realities, More hair than required, More jumpiness than an ant’s. It was the thirteenth hour that he asked me what the time was. “1 pm,” I said “You need to see a psychiatrist,” he postulated.                   ...

Unsaid words Time will tell the story The walls will whisper These words that I leave unsaid These words too timid to come forth These words that don’t need saying O that you would read my silent lips That you would hear the sound of this silence That you would listen to my thoughts forming  That you would understand the  song of the heart that yearns for you O that you may hear the thud of my love’s feathers falling:  crying to you in deep silence And O that you may continually inspire  these silent, unsaid words.                                                James Kaluna