Find.

This absence of words is a sublime thing

Both at the emptiness of souls and its flow till the brim

These are times when you know not the tread

But you know your eyes dream heavy as lead even before it has made you

A subject in its bed but has bestowed you with the shade that keeps away the scorch.

These are times you know your life now hangs on the edge without the trim.

This absence of words doesn't come from a whim or a fling.

Its about that which quenches without expiring

Like the needle that spins on and on without undoing what it makes, and yet you go on looking at the threads

Are they supple enough to break?

These are times you bank on shallow water beds to plunge into the deep.

So what if your voices shake?

Its not your quiver alone now that takes

The flames that burn without flaring.

So I will stand on the soul I love

Back and forth, here and there

What if that dissolves every bit of me when it absorbs

Thoughts and senses that I did not think I care

But let it remain pure, the soul that dove.