So Reachable

It’s never silent anymore,

It’s never really calm;

It never stops

So she can hear her breathing

And there is pain in coming new,

In being born, or freedom —

Like growing bones,

Or maybe even teething —

These private things that just we know,

She knows them in good measure;

But cannot find

The truth thought-ways are teaching —

It’s never silent anymore,

And all is jumbled and confused;

So reachable,

And yet there’s no one

Reaching

Author: Owen Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure. View all posts by Owen Servant