Silas Thorne's Journal

This is an early poem of mine, from way back in 1993. Overly romantic, but here it is:

I am the hoard of words,
the broken blackboard's face
with bitter words of chalk.

I am the heart's dove-tongue,
surveyor of the sky
that wrestled down my wings.

And I once heard the song
that was sung in the hills
when the heart of the wind
knew her name.