Standing on the pentacle of the present,
We observe in the playful gusts;
Birds of many feathers dancing from dawn to dusk
With joyous intent to the echoes of songs.
The remnants of melodies to which we sang along.
We are enchanted by the melodies of joys and sorrows.
That the Southernly winds are whispering; the echoes of songs of tomorrows.
The echoes of songs which lingers unsurpassed.
The ones that the Northernly winds silently echoes of the past.
The wind brings from the west
The Ravens of Odin on their daily quest,
Who pause for a moment to revel as if at a feast
Then continues to the darkening skies in the east.
The echoing thunder is the rhythm of the subterranean drums
Whose beat can be felt at the soles of our feet.
Deep and captivating is the earthen sound
Which causes mountains to quake and continents to creep.
An avalanche of boulders, some extremely big,
Are performing a thunderous jig
As they skip joyously to splash in the ocean
In flowing kinetic motion,
Creating a tidal wave of a crescendo of sounds
That accompanies the drums in the ground.
The echoes of songs
To which we have sung
All existence long.
Timeless memories of the heart
That lingers in our thoughts.
© November 11 2015
