Thursday, August 13, 2009
Because they are so large and seemingly silent,
There are some who will never concede
That within a boulders center,
Larger than ourselves, larger than our small concerns,
Formed by the dried tears of God,
Layered one upon another, echoing the earth,
There is the sound of a beating heart.
Slow and steady, measured not by
The passing of seconds, hours, or days,
But rather by years, centuries, millennia, eons,
Each one being wrapped in its own color of time.
Those who will not listen, would not know, because
The rhythmic beating of our earth, is now beyond,
Beyond their hearing sense, and, not knowing
How to listen, how can they hear?
With ear pressed to stone, listen!
Listen for the echo of earth's voice,
Deep inside its heart, or listen to
The long pauses between each beat.
This is the silence of her song
And the anguish of her giving,
The dried tears of God
Layered one upon another.
Copyright 1991, 2002
Posted by Saint Julian Press – Ron Starbuck at 9:27 PM