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The Voice

Posted by Ssor on March 1, 2008 - 06:27

What’s left when the body fades,
The face drawn to a mask?
Utterly definable through a century,
More perfectly preserved than wind-stabbed stone,
The human voice is utterly unflinching,
Nuances that survive what hardens all else.
Identity’s flag flown till death
over the besieged fort of the spirit,
A singular, rippling, breath-like form.

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Comments

Sooz006 | March 1, 2008 - 13:03

and there's bugger all we can do to stop it. Lovely imagery here.

Ssor | March 1, 2008 - 17:57

Thank you. I have been stunned at times at how I can recognize a voice but not a face. Cheers, Ross.

littleditty | March 6, 2008 - 04:04

me too -and this is one of my favourite poems of yours, memorable voice here Ross, good to read it again. Excellent poem :o)

Ssor | March 12, 2008 - 15:56

I went after an observation which seemed to work out well enough. Hope you get the Guardian series this week. Ross.