The thought is reality, the truth,

the inner quiet self, 

not the word, 

certainly not the written word,

it camouflages, mends meaning.

Especially when spoken, 

the word distorts, 

creates a new reality that is story, 

becomes immediately craft:

the within, once out is noise.

We sit in a group, 

or one on one, 

watching lips move, sure that until 

uttered, choreographed, 

there can be no reality.

The book, sentence, the poem, 

are meaningful, 

can be beautiful as recollection, 

immediately become history,

important only to the room they are in.

Living dreams of others,

actors, with a script, 

with gossip, on a stage, 

directed by the need to be heard, read, 

to be recognized as substantial.

Silence, the journey back to within, 

not yet word, soul, 

is in the back of the theatre, 

waiting to go on, for a cue,

pondering the walls and the molding of life.

---

Craig Kirchner is retired and living in Jacksonville. Fl., because that’s where his grandchildren are. He loves the aesthetics of writing, has a book of poetry, Roomful of Navels and has been nominated three times for Pushcart. He was recently published in Decadent Review, Chiron Review, Queen’s Review, The Main Street Rag, Hamilton Stone Review and about eight dozen others.He houses 500 books in his office and about 400 poems on a laptop. These words help keep him straight.