It is not the noise,
but the intrusion.
of your thoughts, slow and plodding,
rocks in the stream
that break your thoughts
and leaves them gasping like fish on the shore,
certain to die before the next tide.
And so you seek,
blind pilgrim that you are.
You seek the silent places,
places others avoid,
where your soul stare back at you
like a brutal mirror,
where every failure and worse,
every possibility fades in and out of the fog,
beckoning like a lover
one moment one thing, the next,
daring you to choose.
Your wisest choices have always been here,
in the silence,
where ever you could find it.
or with the one you love
and her lack of fear
of your silence.
About this poem
I am an introvert. Bet you didn’t guess that.
I began this poem as one thing, and it turned into another, so it’s either a pilgrimage, or a paen to the woman I love for accepting my introverted nature.