Less
Feb 22 2022
It always seems
there are too many words.
Because less is more,
no need to say
if you've already said it.
A short poem
that knows when it's come to an end,
no hand-holding
spoon-feeding the reader;
trust her, instead
to fill in the rest
on her own.
At its best
condensed, compressed, distilled.
A line drawing
in words.
A single hand
on the piano,
unaccompanied voice.
The block of stone
chiselled down
to reveal the hidden form
waiting to be revealed.
Who sees
what she wants to see;
thin air
invisible
except to the beholder.
My only thought, beginning this, was to write something short. Whatever it was about. Because ideally, every poem would be a Haiku: I always think there are too many words! So of course that ended up becoming the subject. How ironic that it turned out to be as long a poem as usual!
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