memoirs, art and fragments by Thomas Milner

I hear voices

I hear voices which caress

Like a breeze whispering

Across a field of lavender

In fragrant Provence

 

Alluring voices inviting me

To dally in shaded gardens

Being served chilled sherbet

On the banks of the Nile

 

Firm vibrant voices

Calling me back to the meadows

Where I ran riot in my youth

And dreamed of butterflies

 

Voices that pierce my skull

And jangle my bones

Voices drained through

A bucket of rusty nails

 

Voices that are like

Broken violin strings

Twanging back

Who strangled the cat?

 

 Whining voices

Rasping voices

Truculent voices

Plaintive voices

High voices

Low voices

Strong voices

Weak voices

Old voices

Young voices

Nasal voices

Throaty voices

Voices from the past

Voices from the present

 

I hear distant voices prophesying war

I hear muttering in the mountains

And wailing in the streets

 

I hear clear well-modulated voices

Cogently explaining the

Dimensions of disaster

 

But most of all I hear my own voice

A lonely narrative

Echoing through

The chambers of my mind

A screaming rant

In this alien place.

DREAM OF BUTTERFLY - PAINTING by THOMAS MILNER

DREAM OF BUTTERFLY – PAINTING by THOMAS MILNER

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