The Voice.

Photo by Tom Barrett 

Rainy weather brings a rainy poem with it.

Thank You!

“Voice is hiding with the forest creatures.”

Confused precautions
building barriers
around the walls,
spilling light-weight words
through the snoopy voice
that’s gone, alone,
in search of destiny beyond.

It passes peaks and creeks,
lost its bearing in the cloud,
absent power in the water,
a portal to the void, a moist dimension
with different rules of nature.

Continues journey
through the valley past the yellow field,
streaming through the empty halls
of the old abandoned tower,
playing with the echo,
bouncing off the walls.

Voice is lost but also not,
doesn’t have a home,
escaping throne of lies
in the cloudy checkered passing skies,
drinking waterfall of golden rays.

At night,
when water soaking all the life alive,
and wind wrestling with anything it sees;
voice is hiding with the forest creatures
in the hollow of the tree, peeking,
struggling to see the candy sunshine,
seen by day calmly piercing through
the grey clouds – tiny magnets
on the expansive turquoise fridge.

Voice will travel all the span of ticking life,
sharing song with the whistle of the wind,
gifting hope to the crafty forest creatures,
that the trunk, old-fashioned cabinet, or office
will stand, regaining energy and might,
through the intimate, rewarding,
blessing of the Sun.

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