In the hurdy-gurdy world we live in,
Of noise, filth, poverty & sin,
Under booted foot & suited fist,
We cower & cringe beneath blood hazed mist.
The din, the big, the harsh, hard & brash,
The swearing, the glaring, the abuse & the lash,
The bright, the beautiful, the dollar, oil & gold,
The mighty, the city, politicians & the bold.
The roar, the traffic, big-cats, the thuds & the
bangs,
The heavy, everywhere it´s there, it sits & hangs,
But what of the gentle, the silent, the soft & the
meek?
Those that exist but in silence deemed weak.
The soft-hoofed giraffe, the whispering moth,
Velveteen fur of the sleepy old sloth,
The swan who cries once, just before it dies,
The satin-cloth wings of quiet butterflies.
The slow tortoise & the silent little snail,
Soft floating snowflakes, not just the hail,
And what of the moonbeams soft in the night?
It´s not just the sun in his stark brilliant might.
The gentle smile of the tiny little child,
Not the rantings of drunk students wild,
The old man´s tales of sepia times past,
Not just the beautiful folk travelling life fast.
The quiet stars blinking in far distant sky,
Not mad society racing fast to die,
Let´s take time to listen to the soul,
Where we hear silence of root, leaf & mole.
Stop the madness of doing, wanting, gaining &
baying,
Listen to silence in the meek & start praying,
Stay still, breathe deep, listen & see,
It´s alright to
be meek & to just be.
I'm so tired of the rush and busy-ness of life... I long for quiet and a place to just breathe deep and listen.
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