When all the world was silent,
Not a sound was heard,
Not a laugh,
Nor a cry.
Then a voice broke the silence,
Giving life to all who live.
He spoke and there was light,
He breathed and the stars were born.
The silence was pierced,
By the bird’s song,
The cry of wolves,
The laugh of man.
Will that silence be restored?
Will that song ever die?
That cry cease to be heard?
That laugh never sound again?
The One who created these things,
Will not abandon them.
For what he made was good
In silence He will never dwell again.
Walking through the forest beyong the hills
in searching for a light.
There is no one in sight,
just a white blanket of silence.
The resonance of my thoughts,
that bounces back every second.
The truly lonely feeling,
Of what is ought to be searched for.
Why do I feel so loveless
in the lonely night of tonight?
The sound of dead birds singing
comes to the whirlwind of praying.
The hope to go back where I was,
The hope of going back to the days.
These thoughts melt between my hands,
and cannot be touched upon again.
As I continue to walk down the forest,
The forest beyond the hills,
I can hear a small bird chirping,
on the tree in the woods.
What a truly melodic sound!
A sound that sounds so splendid.
The lovelessness that hung in the air
the sadness of the world.
I revisit the Sound of Silence
Every now and again
To recover my lost Zen
And to try and reach down deep inside
And find my quiet place within.
It is hard to shut down my mind.
When the chaos of my thoughts
Rage eternally inside
Like the powerful forces of a hurricane.
But even from within
The great storm’s eye
There can be quiet from the din
Where a certain silence doth reside.
Inside, inside, inside.
It’s the sound of silence that I crave
Like the darkness of a cave
Like the quietness of a sacred bell
Unrung above the Nave.
Waiting to be rung
It’s melody perfectly unsung,
But waiting for its much desired release.
Copyright Christine A Kysely 2010 November 26, 2010
(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
Hear the sound of the falling rain
All happiness turns in to pain
our fear turn in to shame
we lose happiness in our shame
we turn our shame in to our pain
we can turn our pains and shames in to happiness ones again
just to hear the sound of the falling rain
Every teardrop tells a story
As its running down our cheek
The sound it makes cannot be heard
For its voice is much too weak
Listen to a teardrop fall
But listen with your soul
The silent screams of broken hearts
A sound you can't console
Teardrops are a language
That's spoken from the heart
An endless stream of liquid pain
That tears our world apart
Tears are often misunderstood
As a cleansing of the soul
But they leave scars that go unseen
When the pain begins to flow
Every teardrop tells a story
That most will never hear
They don't understand the language
That's spoken by the tear
Can you hear the sound of Hope and Renewal ?
For me it resounds in the spring breeze in the grass..
The faint sound of a bleating lamb, the thrill
of lazy white clouds drifting . Seeing a tired soul
begin to stir with new found energy. Life seems
to hold untold wonders, the impossible becomes
less daunting...forgiveness seams easier..and once more
love is reborn.
It’s rooted deep down within
Runs within our adrenalin
For weather we have committed a crime or a sin
It’s still buried deep within
Some fear for the one they love
Others may fear the fear of love
Afraid of the nightmare or the darkest night
Sounds that fill you with chill or sound that make you fright
Dark Clouds fill within you with pain
While you walk through the rain of struggle ,without gain
For Fear can make you go Insane
At Times of Immorality casting chains
A singular emotion lingers all around us
Some need it others just weather with the rust
A few will rise in repulsion of pain
No Morals of truth or name
Simple for a Sound to be clear
But what if it if filled with fear?
---You can purchase my book of Poems "Temet Nosce"------Where you will find the rest of my
poems--
--- Mustafah Mun
The sound of harps played by virgin hands,
the falling of sparrows from innocence,
the orchestra of a thousand silhouettes,
the rhapsody of dying (and death),
the high-pitched songs of malice and contempt,
the chorus of crickets about to rest,
the breath of a newborn about to see
that living on two feet
is a parody,
the humming of a lotus to a harp-playing lass-
it is the sound of nothing, it is the sound of impasse.
It was so simple
All he had to do
Was what they
Told him
Stand straight
Wet your lips
Press the valves
And let the bugle do the rest.
The last few words
Were the toughest
“..Then goodnight, peaceful night;
Till the light of the dawn shineth bright.
God is near, do not fear,
Friend, goodnight.”
The melancholy sound
Lingered for a moment
Emotions evaporated
In the warm afternoon sun
Tears stopped
Then an uneasy silence
Came
As the mourners
Slowly left the cemetery.
He was just a regular soldier
There weren't any buglers left
The bugle
He played
Was electronic
With the press of a button
A sound came out
But who was to know
It was all make believe.
He waited
Half hidden
Under the shade of the trees
Nervously placing
The bugle
Back in its case
For him
There was no sense of satisfaction
Only of relief
That it was over.
Taking a deep breathe
He turned
And walked away
Just like they told him to.
Drip, drip is the sound of my tears
When you lived out my fears
Drip, drip is the sound of your blood
Before your body made that thud
Hear the Sound of my feet Walking, down the Sound of my Voice Talking
See the sights of the Universe, See the sights of unquenched Thirst
Smell the stagnant odor of life, Smell the rancid aroma of Strife
Taste the unknown flavor of Death, Taste the taste of Your last Breath
Feel the Touch of an unknown Love, Feel the Touch of Almighty GOD Above