silence is not...
the absence of sound,
but sound stripped naked and pure!
the thunderous crash of the acorn,
to the ground that startles the squirrel,
and freezes him with fear!
the squeak of the old spicket,
wailing for the water to rise,
from the dead bones of time.
the moan of dead bones,
returning back to dust,
as if sexual release.
and the prayers of the trees,
who see our foolishness,
and weep!
Eric Cockrell
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/silence-is-not-for-hune/
