While we are on the subject of poetry, here is a poem that was published in the Catholic University Art & Literary Magazine back when I was an undergraduate in 1993. I memorized it then, and it has been a companion since.
These are the woes, and rues, and lamentations
of the shackled mind,
too gentle to communicate,
too gentle to rend the air with
profession, protestation, or sound;
too gentle to cleave the minds of others
and make space in which to put
concerns and declarations, argument, refutations;
too gentle to speak in any language
but the eyes’ whispers,
words within words
the lonely non-sounds of waiting.
These are woes without expression:
they contemplate the desert
and the starkness of its reds;
they contemplate the streetside
and its barking and its roars.
They contemplate the sadness that drips from words exchanged by lovers without recourse but to burst—
cups run over, words splash to the floor,
lapped up with thirsty tongues to wet
the parch these woes would wet with a wordless kiss.
These woes and rues and lamentations of the gentle mind,
its own master,
will not disturb the air.
They are quieter than night;
they move like clouds.
They and their coldness will be left outside at daybreak
to run with the dogs.
Heat and light will fill them, and they will silently disappear.
I think that the secret of the resolution of the poem is prayer and the love of God. Of course, it is good to communicate with other people. Communication is important. But sometimes it is difficult to find the words…