Within The Fullness of Silence

Is it really the day after Christmas That I was outside with the trees? The rain drizzled soft like a moth Little streams from the spray flowed Down the cold and dark brown bark As I found myself in adoration Of how the moss hugged the shadows Like that of a loving hand's hold I took a look up at the grey sky Branches and buildings arched through Both looming tall like huge claws And I was struck by the curious oddity Of majestic seagulls so far inland In a smooth glide over me they soared Timeless in their magnanimous flight Their white chests were shining down Upon me as I stood there dumbstruck Like in the watching of old movies My memories of them reverberated: I thought of the fullness of life And pondered the unknown of death In my quiet time completed words Caused for articulation to become Obsolete in the frame of silence Vibrant life against death unknown Begged the pardon of the deep art The best speech rested in stillness But for the clanging machinations Of a world without enough time for Spring winds that brought new life That stood against the grand sunsets That unfolded in temporal erosion And yet there was a form of it Which in a wasteful attempt pulled Words for a brief glance at it The omnipotence of the quietude It served as a pointer to the universe For a moment of discretion against The mortal grain ever in distress Unlike the disannulling of its parts The whole could have felt the pulsing Of the moments it stood in the ocean Of the times it inhaled in a forest As a slave it was always enthralled It walked on in miraculous thought To behold sense itself as marvelous The mere imprint of itself shaken Down into its foundations of light In the face of all else it had seen There were always leaves all about With trees in moss kissed by the rain To melt in the inexorable downpour Decay had cast the magic that was The glimmer that shined in the eye That beheld the virulent cooling That took its toll as it sated Its thirst for peace from chaos Against a human order that is flawed Where sense was a mere novelty then To behold such notions as termination Life was like a wound up ball of yarn It found freedom with its last breath And like a kiss of creativity it bid To bless the following as it ended

CuldeSac

What are words without understanding and what is understanding without sense?

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