Can you hear it now?
(The footsteps of the weeping Sun
The whispering of the bowing trees
The fragile whistling of the weak breeze.)
It is so, so very tired, so exhausted.
It wants to be put to real rest;
Buried under the earth,
Under dug up mounds,
Under the hard coffins,
Under the teeny tiny microbes
Under the deep dark sky-
It is rotting, and it is sleeping
It is sleeping forever under the sky.
Under the eating creatures,
Forever dying, dying and living
It is being you, and it is being me
Myself, yourself and everything
It is abstraction
It is the earth and the Earth;
It is forever unresting,
It is the breath of the universe.
It is the unfathomable,
The unfinished.
YOU ARE READING
Lost Tides
PoezjaThe few best out of 124 poems, all written from the age of eleven to now.
