We do not construct
but live to find our own shape
The gardener growing
A sound unknown to those who never dare, to love themselves in naked blood and breath
nor fall in laughter to the sun soaked ground
or know their lives more rare for knowing death.
called, by silence to the twisted trees
to places still untouched by ordered fate
beside a pool in marsh or rippled rill
in silence for the imminent to wait.
Alone, unknown within the world of sound
the voice of fear unclear and unexpressed
my silence hostage to uncertainty
while anxiousness played havoc in my breast.
Till I met death whose perfect silence shone
in light and welcome beyond all I had known
I wept to hear that I was once again
ordained by fate toleave my silent home.
What I feared then I now rarely recall
but rather listen to the changing wind
that as the seasons fly their circles round,
quiets to bring the birdsong gently in.
Silence offers still the sweetest sound
broken only by laughter sweet and light
counterpoint to the song that silence sings,
as life’s bright music fills endless night