I would never dare
to disturb you in your seclusion
that old wisdom in
limestone cathedrals of
whitewash and the past
burnt into clay
with a spine and the roof high up
where there is
a solution
where there is
passion
and some kind of
knowledge
and words will not speak for you
flying head up in the skies
like ladies whispering by
talking chit-chat
spitting out what they
have not, what they
had not even taken in
and as you pass by
you seem so silent,
and greedy for a listener
of all the times best
when what you reckon is
a question running onward
to stay without an answer,
for reason cannot tell you
and you don't talk about things
you would rather whisper