By the contours of eyes <br />that tastes the beat <br />of the cardinal's vice, <br />my heart listened <br />like the draping’s of an eyeless wager, <br />inaudibly changing your nervous still. <br /> <br />But angel or devil, <br />and I being neither <br />nor the cherub of envy <br />that life was taunting us bigger. <br />Bigger than being alone, <br />that calm was inevitably gone to waste. <br /> <br />Was the virtue of singlehandedly <br />gathering sweet dreams <br />and packaging them by the bale of meek lacings, <br />not sweet at all? <br /> <br />I sold my dreams <br />like the joints of a sundry slave. <br />Selfishly appraising the shape of pride, <br />that played the jeer to the amoretti. <br /> <br />But angel or devil <br />and I being the same, <br />That wind drew blue, <br />and cold echoings encircled.<br /><br />Scott J. Shepard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-speaking-to-silence/
