Dave B. Price

Poetry ~ Dave B. Price

Though the air is full of singing
my head is loud
with the labor of words.

Though the season is rich
with fruit, my tongue
hungers for the sweet of speech.

Though the beech is golden
I cannot stand beside it
mute, but must say

“It is golden,” while the leaves
stir and fall with a sound
that is not a name.

It is in the silence
that my hope is, and my aim.
A song whose lines

and not mourn:  the world
lives in the death of speech
and sings there.

We weren’t supposed to end up this way…

For six months all I did was pray. I prayed you’d keep looking at me with that wonder in your eyes and it would never fade I’d pray to hear that calm voice of yours one more time, telling me everything’s going to be okay I’d pray you’d remember my favourite things like I remembered […]


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