Shalom Freedman (Troy New York)

I waited for the Silence
Only then could I hear my own poem -
The Silence came and I began to write
Bu there were nonetheless small disturbing sounds
Which drowned the inner mood and melody-

I waited for the Silence again
And the Silence did not come
And the poem I wanted to hear
Was not in me -
So all I can do is write down what happened
As if this too were a poem
And the satisfaction of a need
Even if I cannot hear my own sounds.