Sunday Breeze- A Poem

Try not to imagine life without sound

Instead, the slow rush of an always breeze

The music of infinite birds

A jazz heartbeat of a rhythmless tune

Broken by a blackbird so confident in its voice

In time his shadow will go quiet

Ushered away by a tidal time

But in spirit there’s a constant replacement

Fourteen where only one has been

Alive in a redwinged pause

With the noise of every living thing

We grow accustomed to their presence

The warmth of all that breathes and hovers

Like a cold day’s clouded breath

We know all good things will be broken

They are falling glass on a jagged stone floor

But they linger in constant replacement

An evolutionary standard in a fast-wilting world

It would be a joy if we thought that they mattered

If we tried to listen to the songs that are played

With even half the attention we happened to spend

On human things and their manufactured beauty

So much better the dead and the dying

The mortal and wondrous curl

Than the smoke of the last burning pit in the earth

So much better than the land that we’ve filled

So sit instead in the rush of the wavering world

Listen to the life that lasts

For the sake of who we might have been

And all the time that’s passed.