Sheila M. Taylor
Poem by Sheila M. Taylor
Words cannot explain why Gerald lives in isolation, on the street amidst abundance, while chilling winds envelop him.
Nor can they satisfy the cramping hunger that forces baby Rachel's pathetic whimper nor do they alleviate her pain.
Words are unable to rationalize the need to steal, to hurt, to maim or justify aggression against our fellow man.
Nor can they capture the moment when a ray of light touches a delicate rose as a hummingbird savours candied nectar within.
Or the aftermath of a frenzied summer thunderstorm as a quiet sunset brings a calming peace blanketing the land.
Words can tell of the marvels of nature, the power of the churning sea, of the dazzling stars and distant moon, but do I comprehend?
It is when, alone with the universe, words mysteriously touch my soul, awakening exquisite rapture or devastating pain.
And in my fragile world, miracles happen, spirited by words heard, written or seen, stirring my imagination, encouraging dreams.
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