Sensory Deprivation
See not the crocus crack its bloom;
The evening is still as an endless dream;
No screaming child, no tortured men;
There is no hiss from a snaking sun,
And no report from an unloaded gun.
Silence has reigned for a kingdom come.
The air plays in the waves no more.
No water splashing on the seashore,
No sound in conches held to an ear;
Mounds of golden sand stretch without end,
And if the moons must revolve
They will not react again.
To the observer, who now sits in two
Unparalleled dimensions, there are the
Awkward points of light, burning above,
And the obsessive fear of unwanted flight,
Never from below, but above the wastrel breadth.
poem by Stan Petrovich
Added by Poetry Lover
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