Sunday, June 26, 2016

The Voice Unheard

The birds swoop down their beatless notes
            so we'll listen to what they say.
The coyote bushes waving "hello"
            want us to share their joy.

The dialogue of wind and leaves,
            one first then rustling other,
                       wonders what to do about us...

As the crone who was never forgiven
            whispers curses through the aethers.
Such consequence, such conscience,
            such clinging to an empty past.

The wind and all its choral voices
            try to tell us how instantly
                       we're forgiven 

But the men below, stretching, Godless
            will never be,
They look at the dead woods as a lost cause
            not even what might have been

For the same decisions would be made again,
           the same auroral chasing,
See there is nothing in this world as sweet
           as what is stolen by the unworthy.

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