The Poet Of Mute Poem by Peter Vector

Quietly he sits,
By his papers and pen,
On the lone lamp lit desk...

Waiting for the words,
To come to him, to be written down.

He says nothing as his the strokes of his pen hits the page...
Beautiful words that create the pictures,
Of the warm sunset on a beach,
Or the dead dusk of winter and the rotting trees...

Silence, is immortal fiend and his dearest friend,
He is loveless and alone.
His only companions are the deathly quite,
And his poems scattered abroad.

So quietly he sits,
By his papers and pens,
On the lone lamp lit desk,
He is the poet of mute...