Too Much Talking

 

maybe it’s the age

or the stage

i’m in

but it seems strange

with so many words

our messages remain muddled.

 

much said,

volumes read,

little solved.

consensus cowers,

dangles like limp laundry

suspended on a back-yard clothesline.

 

constant chatter  

signifying nothing.

everything,

talked to death.

 

even Lazarus opts out,

been here,

heard enough

prefers the silence

of a quiet space.

 

today I had a thought,

a fresh inspiration,

a flash of pure insight.

it needed a body.

 

words show up for the job,

laboring to define

the Nova,

my twinkling

streak of revelation.

 

sadly, the vision becomes indentured,

a slave to words

necessary for clarity.

 

soon, having been seduced

by too much talking,

the inspiration is shorn

of its power and

sliced into shreds

by the scissors of words.

 

one night last week

a mute lightening show

lit up the universe

over the Atlantic.

 

nature’s pure light

spoke

without sound.

  

can we tame our tongues,

rest our thumbs,

suppress the superfluous?

 

after all, how many words

are needed

for the Spirit to say,

“I love you anyway?”

 

Satis verborum—enough said.

 

 

Bud Hearn

October 29, 2021