Speechless

door

If I were to speak plainly
Would the simplicity feel undone?
Do I hide behind flowered words?
Or is that where I breathe?

I pick up the discarded cloaks
And robes that never make the bin,
Arrange them into bouquets
To deliver when I see fit.

But when you knocked on my door
And caught me unaware, I was speechless.
Not ready to receive a visitor without
My blanket of words.

-S. S. Hicks

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10 thoughts on “Speechless

  1. I’ve been there, too, DD, and one can’t help feeling helpless when the words won’t come. Odd how the Muse vanishes when she feels like it!

  2. So you’re going to leave me speechless but not telling me whether you let the person in or not? You know I don’t do well with puzzles and here you’re acting like the sphinx. It’s enough to make a grown man cry. 🙂

    1. Hah! Sorry to toy with you, Don. I can tell you this — I would not let in a man with no face, as displayed in this beautiful painting. However, if I ran a library the door would be wide open.

  3. I like this, even though I’m not sure I get it. To me the first verse is about guardedness, the second about publishing leftovers that have been gone over to make something of them, and the the third I’m not sure how to fit with the first two. It made me stop and think, though, and I don’t like stopping or thinking, so job well done, there.

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