What is it about talking

What is it about talking

That interferes with thinking.

Music can wash over

The body,

Soak into the pores,

Flush out the soul.

Random thoughts blossom,

Grow from tiny seeds

Into beautiful trees,

With bountiful fruits

Ripe for the picking.

They bloom like flowers,

Cross pollinate,

Create new varieties

And the world is never

The same.

Silence

Is an empty vessel

That echoes with possibility,

Waiting to be filled,

Pregnant with pauses

And the hint of surprise.

It founders in wonder,

When the sound

Of your own heart

Fills your ears

As you wait

To hear her voice.

And the world is never

The same.

Until the talking

Cuts into the process,

Stops you in your tracks,

Holds you to account,

Requesting an answer,

Engagement,

Commitment.

Whole new connections

Are both made

And un-made.

Some barely understood,

With cross pollination,

Re-fertilisation

Of the soul,

Procreation of the spirit

Re-generation

Of a species

And the world is never

The same…

Again.