A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.

HOLDING PATTERN

As the sky
Contains its clouds,
And the ocean holds
Its breathing swell,
Gently,
We appear,
As mysterious strangers,
Different it seems,
In each other's dreams,
My home
Is your horizon,
My secrets,
Painted in your style,
Yet these are but
The sounds of silence,
The dance of stillness,
Shared,
For a while.
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