quieter days.

the wind suffers the time of day caught in glimpses of shallow light across the expanses of my capricious thoughts all that echoes is all that rings; silence. the places where all answers are found; hidden. to hear the soft mellifluous voice amongst the bravado; peace. i long for quieter days moments of vivid stillness that mark the mystic darkness of loose flight how far west must my spirit soar, till grass sits up and speaks? the proclivity to this distant reality haunts i may never be free. accept nothing; hold everything