Somewhere Past the Fallen Limbs
Somewhere past the fallen limbs
Of old tangled oaks and elm
Breaking silence as lighting dims
Rushing whispers split the realm
Mocking silence with a hush
It slicks the stones of shallow brook,
Exalting in babble with a gush,
I turn to take a humble look.
Searching fluid sounds of creation
Articulating His wordless voice,
Tears fall dryly at my sublimation
To waters endless song , rejoice.
Brenda Atry
September 28, 2011
Copyright © Brenda Atry | Year Posted 2011
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