Tag Archives: Doi Suttep

Voice

Today, I walked down the trail, looking up at the pines, unable to express what was happening inside of me. “Give me a poem, God,” I pleaded.

 

Pines, amber and green, slanting upward

Light spilling into gleaming bars

Silence steals from heart to mind, silence whispering;

Hush—for even the forest has a voice.

 

And across the blue and golden ranges

Forests lie unrobed in light’s un-aging glory

Rolling, far-flung, and rolling, further and rolling

Hush—for even the mountains have a voice.

 

Twilight lies low on the mountain’s edges

Pinks and blues, outlined on the ridges

Gray and blue; and gray fog rolls, sealing the night

Hush— for even the dusk has a voice.

 

The forest and the mountains cry out day after day

The dusk and the night shout of glory

The mind grows silent, the silent heart alive;

Hush—hush! Even your Maker has a voice.

 

Photo credit: pixabay.com

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The Language of Silence

There is no voice that touches my heart

As much as no voice at all

The silence of sky on mountain peak

The whisper of snowflakes, winter wind’s call

 

So many times have I stood on a street

Lost in the teeming mobs of man

When the depths of my soul are muffled and mute

Smothered for the silence of a far off land

 

Where silence is the language everyone speaks

Where it rises like mists from mountain sod

Where it cloaks me with peace; while I sit and cry

Because silence for me is the voice of God.

 

-October 29, 2017

photo credit: pixabay

The Mountain Calls

The mountain calls from its forested walls

Cloudy and grim and gray

The feet that trace the trail o’er its face

Do not know what it wants to say

For the mountain speaks from its forested peaks

To those who listen, and hear

The tales it knows and the secrets it blows

Through the whisper of wind in the ear

And for those who listen the mountain will spin

Tales of a pristine green

Where rivers run clear and the stars are near

And the air is crisp and keen

 __________________________________________

 

But no one cares for the stories it shares

So it looms a lonely soul

The world spins past and its echoes blast

In a search that is never full

Like a sentry it stands in eastern lands

Above the city hum

Like one watching and waiting, in light that is fading

For a friend that never comes

Because for those who listen the mountain will spin

Tales of a pristine green

Where rivers run clear and the stars are near

And the air is crisp and keen

___________________________________

Tomorrow, my friend. I will come tomorrow.