The disapproving I of silence.

Eye, see the words through a screen
barring massless photons from
the faintest flutter of pixels
among a regimented reign of blazing

Movement merges the margins,
in a rainbow of persuasion that
both sharpens and blurs as an
ecstatic dance of dreams across
open arms and hugging holds.

Chasing seeing with reading,
fast afront a wave of overlaying
lines and cascading craziness
in the space between, leaving
nothing seen but clarity enraptured.

There is too much to be seen
between the lines. Too many meanings
and feelings and screaming. Too many
thoughts of today, too many dreams
of tomorrow. Too many words go unseen.

Having mounted the fine veil to
deep mist, eye is unburdened from
the fineness of flickering freedom
to the locks of imagination closed
quietly around reason.

Eye, wake to the cheat. Look back
to the frozen moment before the world
fell away to the page, to the clawing
rage of all arguments towards emptiness,
sameness, blamelessness, namelessness.

The disapproving I of silence.

by Gareth Rosser