In meadows did we sit and stare
into the grassy beads.
There was nothing to speak of
for it was already said,
and we did only listen to it
to understand thee.
There is but life which grows
and withers away
to make room for another life
which too must sit
and stare with us until it has
said all it needs to.
Then we wrap it into our hands
and carry it in palms
to the rivers which runs into
the oceans far away,
and let go of the life which
once was spoken of.
'-',-,
There for all which wasn't said:
oceans to be washed
away like dirt, specles of dusts
for that is all we are,
a mountain once stood there
by silence shattered.
|