What is more dear to me, a sound or dream?
Acoustic resonance to shake and shudder,
Or through the mind's more masterful machine,
A word to soar beyond what lips could utter?
When truth begins with sound, all sound's profane;
Mere imagery or tact, corroborated:
When feelings fall, though dear past words have been,
All matters bide more clearly elocuted.
Each seldom word speaks false that being true
Before what other tasks the mouth's work may,
That fell the harshest, but to say Adieu,
How silence sings to hush such thoughts away.
The keenest whispers made, the best ears miss,
No word was said so clearly as her kiss.
-March 28,2006
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem