Still-eyed watcher, soul in upheavel, a

Still-eyed watcher, soul in upheavel, a hush of morning, Storm-bound, a roaring held in a frame of stillness, Shadowed softness weaved in the look of longing— Wounded, yet willing Lips not parted—words have no need to linger, Thoughts are risen aloft in a flock of dusky unspoken recollection Burdened calmness held in the bones of silence— Time does not touch him. Limestone framing heat of his heart concealed within there, Eyes that speak in volumes the tongue forgot and so abandons, Something ancient sleeps in the pulse of his heart beneath him— Quietly burning.