Peace

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

When silence and its stillness really mean,

Blue flutes become involved with azure drums.

The silence, stillness, flutes and drums are seen

As one by Buddha.  In his mansion hums

The meaning that the universe desires

In silence and in stillness and in notes

And rhythms of no tone.  The silent fires

That interpenetrate deep space and motes

Called stars comprise Nirvana and the rise

Of moons and suns the among those countless spheres

Well past our minds where meaning must surprise

Philosophers beyond all time, blue years.

The lack of words means nothing in the dark’s shrill

Bangs.  Silence and its musics linger still.

[The fancy programs used to create this sonnet package are not fancy enough to let me do it my way.  They refuse to cooperate.  I prefer the word “musics” in the last line instead of “music.”

© Phillip Whidden