|
Poetry by Peter D. Orr
|
|
|
Whispers The world turns 'round a single point And if you could hear The the convergent sound of many paths The mountains would speak As the wind dances on Through countless valleys. This orb becomes an instrument In the heavens. It sings a tune that plays just below silence. Just above wanting. In between being and becomming. Just outside of living and dieing. Listen if you can Beyond every sense you possess To the whispers of clouds. |