Sleep’s slow drip, Fills bulbous blues, That bulge like welts, Felt by all who know. And all who know, know not to ask - or nod with a smile. And it lightens the lids, When you can smile back, With a knowing nod.
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All that's left unsaid.
I was settling into this, and wanted to hear more.
Lovely.
This is mysterious and wonderful. The concept of a "knowing look" or "knowing nod" is so intriguing. In a way I think it reflects what we're all doing all the time. Even when we use words, even very many of them, even when we're trying to be very precise, there's a degree to which we can only communicate because we already have shared experiences. Ultimately, the true, deep mapping between words and thoughts/emotions is elusive, and certainly not something we ever explicitly convey in the raising or teaching of children. I'm not sure if I'm making sense, but if I am...you'll just know. :)
I read your poem this morning and I read it a few more times now (mid-afternoon my time). It's splendid! I get a little more out of it each time, both semantically and in the noticing of new rhymes/alliteration/assonance.
Great work!!