Pilgrim

Silence,

and then a bird announces

his dis-silence, throwing out

his request into the waiting woods,

but sill there’s stillness devouring

his words because no bird answers him.

 

The silence that presses in and

seamlessly fills every space

is an illusion-

we don’t have ears in tune enough

to hear the music in the sunlight

falling on the leaf.

One degree of resistance less, and

the fires of friction begin.

 

The sky is blue above the clouds

to where the blueness touches empty

beyond our fires of friction, and

with the distance become the only true silence-

no voice to answer in return.

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Author: jet197

A Spanish speaking elementary resource teacher, single mom with two grown kids and a pasión for the outdoors and books. I am a big curious question mark always pondering with a penchant for poetry.

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