Deep down inside of me
forces are rising up,
but like the waves
high and sighing in the distance,
always they must surrender to the strand.
I laugh at my creations through a veil of tears
and feel in my beginning that I have yet to begin -
each time my thinking dives away,
stays with itself, alone -
as vowed to silence.
Inside me poems lie on undiscovered shores
waiting for my silent landfall
waiting for my crossing of those inner oceans
filled with shoals and sirens' calls
for I am heavy with more than I give birth to,
my heart knows songs that I will never sing.
I am music of which I do not know the chords,
I am a pause repeatedly disturbing itself.
I am more than I am.
I cannot release myself.
A paradise lost lies inside me.
Poet, do you keep on weighing sounds,
intangible as mirrors without smile or line?
Contemplate no more,
be warrior instead.
Rise up and stop this singing,
for the Spirit needs the silent ones.
Would She not otherwise have led the song?
Painting: The wanderer above the sea of fog by Caspar David Friedrich