Have you laid to hear the wind blow?
Do you hear the whispers of things unknown?
How long has it been since the rain made you breathe in?
What if you didn’t care if you were here to win?

The sky.
An eye.
The nothing.
The something.

Each one whispers in its own fashion.
If we care to listen, there, we’ll find passion.
For it’s not about fast walking.
It’s about stopping the talking.

What I say I can’t explain.
But I can tell you it’s a quiet that will silence your complaints.
Because it once was a quiet world.
And, the stories of those days have become old.

Someone it seems, stole this precious gift.
Replacing it with clangs, and bangs, and vocal spits.
We’ve forgotten the words of our crafted souls,
Listening instead to fools talk of gold.

But what if we found what has been taken from us?
Would we breathe for a moment; just long enough?
Long enough to remember that we’ve been set free?
Long enough to reach out and touch the life on His tree?

Someone stole the silence.
That oh most perfect gift.
But this thing taken.
Still exists.

So because away you took it.
Ask to have it back.
It is still held.
Still always, it waits.

What was that you say?
You know the way?
Well how do you know?
You heard?

Where?

from peace.

Love, hurry, remember as you once did,
to listen again; to marvel at the wind.
Not to clatter, for it is nothing but noise.
For life, instead to the silence that is Wisdom’s voice.

…because love wins.