Thursday, 2 February 2017

A Small Feeling

There's a quiet sound in the night,
It's a soft hush,
A barely audible whisper of things past,
And things yet to come,
If you listen carefully you might be able to hear it,
Or it might pass you by as if it were never there at all,
It's a small feeling after all,

And the choice is not yours to make,
For it has already been made,
In the midst of a cold winter many years from now,
Between the wooden walls of a goatherd's cabin,
As the snow covers the tips of the grasses that smother the meadow,
And the creatures huddle together for warmth,
At that moment words were whispered and truth was known,

And far from there the stars hang like tiny candles in the night sky,
Glittering down upon all that lays beneath,
Casting their small rays towards each and every thing surrounding them,
Reaching through the darkness,
Calling out to all around,
You are not alone,
You are never alone,

But their voices only reach so far,
And those in the distant past cannot hear so clearly,
To them the sounds are muffled,
As words when spoken through cloth,
Bustle and clutter overrides all surrounding,
Flecking it with nonsense,
Like so much static in the line,
Or a blurry photograph found in the bottom of someone else's bag,

Only the eyes that listen can see,
And only the mouth that whispers silence can hear,
As soft fingertips play gentle trumpets,
That deafen the steadily breathing ears,
And fill the heart that lies still,
Then they will meet once more and dance,
Bathed in moonlight's silvery glow,

There are no people here now,
And no creatures left to see,
The wind has ceased it's howling,
And the stars no longer shine,
The grass beneath my feet is dead,
And the sky is black as pitch,
All that was has been and gone,
And all that's left is none.

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