M. L. Kiser Poet Prose Poetry

Un-Hearing

Falling leaves trace ancestral tracks in empty air
and their whispers echo secrets, ancient; 
lost to most mortal ears, suppressed,
Stifled as techno-shrieks from MP3 quicksand, 
cell-mania and industry drums
drive them into near oblivion.

Soot-browned, crispy hairs fall upon Earths’ shoulders;
dancing on Fall winds, singing messages loud and clear;
we must rest now, hibernate in her womb.

“Child, when ice-time comes, her steely cold grip will crush us in our slumber.
Gaia, like the phoenix reborn,
renews in sleep her life power;
pours us into leaf-molds.
Once again; death is some mortal illusion, 
but most never hear our whispers.”

Listen with your soul, 
ears never truly hear these whispers.
Selective hearing is mankind’s’ undoing.

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Cynthia Jones April 13, 2015 at 5:40 PM M.L. I love being surrounded by nature. I make sure I'm out and about all of the time, so I can be one with nature. Excellent write my friend. Well done. :O) Keep up with the great work. Keep on penning. Thank you so very much for sharing your wonderful and creative talents with us. We all truly appreciate it. *S* Cynthia M. L. Kiser April 14, 2015 at 9:13 AM Nature is a never-ending source of inspiration. Glad you stopped by to read and comment and thanks.