I have spoken of love,
And perhaps no one has heard.
Now I am silent and listening…
To the bloom of the rose,
To eternity in falling rain.
To the passion of fresh turned earth.
To the wisdom of the trees.
To the innocence of small children.
To the colors of wrinkled faces.
To the revolution of the ants,
And the grieving of stars.
To the rhythm of rivers and mountains.
To the sacred whisper of bodies.
To the hunger of flesh drawn angels.
To the symphony of unkept graves.
To the holiness of bruised hands.
To the joy wrapped inside solitude.
To the simple and madly human.
To the sound of paws bound by sleep.
To the falling leaf,
and the crackling of embers.
To freedom defined by the wind.
So weep not for me,
But for those that cannot hear!