A Form of Silence
All these words are little more
than another form of silence.
The world takes our voices
and scatters them on the winds,
so all our words become
little more than soft breezes
rustling the leaves and grass
and billowing the curtains.
The words are lost on the winds,
taken by the breezes and spread
through the valleys around us,
lost in the dark-shadowed woods
and flowing along the streams
that flow rivers out into the sea.
We have spoken of many things
from universes to sand grains
and now our words are lost
while we are almost forgotten.
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