I do not want to be seen or heard or spoken to. In the house I am grateful if it is empty except for me. Only with wincing do I emerge from my room, even into my wife's presence. I am clean of all desire and passion, clamor has died out in me. I am still and peaceful. I think I exist not in myself but in the air, unseen, as I feel, unliving. I should say, like Merton, that I sense myself in God and do not wish to come out to live again. I have lived and died by my own hand and to come back is to break this pact with myself, once more the crime committed and I again without faith. But in presence of my sin I grow restless and once more turn back to rhythms of silence and alone again take up a pen with which to commit myself for one hour to eternity. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A TIME TO TALK by ROBERT FROST FRINGED GENTIANS by AMY LOWELL SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: EDITOR WHEDON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS MALVERN HILL [JULY 1, 1862] by HERMAN MELVILLE THE WINDOW; OR, THE SONG OF THE WRENS: THE LETTER by ALFRED TENNYSON THIS FLESH by KENNETH SLADE ALLING A SESTINA, IN IMITAION OF SIG. FRA. PETRARCA by PHILIP AYRES |