Friday, September 10, 2010

Sore Eyes, Shut.

We are nothing, in the end,
but echos in a room greater than we 
had once thought

a room filled, by large, with
the murmurings of doubt-

but what wonderful sounds we can leave!

shouts of ecstasy reverberating like 
the fluttering of a bird's wings,
startled and hurdling itself 
into the sky

or the sound of our own inner peace;
a sound like deafening stillness broken 
by a single drop falling
from the moist ceiling of a limestone 
cathedral into 
an immense 

We spend lifetimes sending out cries of pain,
sobbing to higher beings,
screaming at inanimate objects,
or staring
through dry, red eyes at
the blur of humanity

silence is not true peace

but neither is the outcome
of bloody lungs,
snapped vocal cords
and voices lost.

If we can be anything than let us be
a whisper of encouragement
and love

echoing forever
and ever
in the wind.

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