What can we learn from the silence,
From the absence of the thunder and roar.
From the separation of the sense from the feeling,
The search for a meaning beyond the blue door.
What is the substance of existence,
The warp and the weft, the disparate threads.
Is the heartbeat just a Morse code call to the dying,
This mortal stardust’s flickering dread.
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Made of sticks and stones 
beautiful – you sound like Auden here
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Thank you so much Beth, I’m overwhelmed with the comparison I love Auden,
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Reblogged this on Made of sticks and stones and commented:
A poem full of silence and absence …
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