Tuesday, April 2, 2013

To Forsake the Edges of a Madding Crowd










                     "And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, 
                      books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything." 
                      — William Shakespeare 



The branches have mouths which mutter and sigh, 
bending boughs to touch and remember the earth, 
bereft of the very soil they arose from, 
searching for broad expanses of sky to surge into, shaking their leaves 
as though in penance or martyrdom for their unnamed cause. 

There are elaborate thoughts floating upon 
charging, changing currents of a wild river, 
unspoken words to be listened to and heeded 
if one only knows how to open their masked sounds 
and decipher their various languages. 

The stones know, but remain silent. 
Their path is not to lead, but to stay - 
their religions consist of endurance, of hidden wisdom. 
They know the allure of water and its slow, subtle effects. 

To forsake the edges of a madding crowd is to seek 
and find a peacefulness not availed in a public square - 
the noiselessness allows your inner voice to question, 
to enrapture its way around your bowed neck 
and lift your eyes to the nature of what surrounds you 
within the dense forest, the innocent glade, 
the valleys spilling their boldness everywhere.