Into the lull steps Isabella –
late summer comes
the chipping
when the cardinal
desists from singing.
No words, no words
can ever match
empathy like
the wave upon the shore –
the still is everything,
muffled ever more.
The voice of silence
is a woman breaking,
the measure of sound
is a girl no more.
Hush now – quiet,
this is all,
your truth is shut,
mere nail to wood –
a wood of patterns
set deep in time,
multitudes gagged
bound to supreme
lies, all lies.
Anne's mediocre poetry 