Silence befalls me like thunder
of inescapable laugh of circumstance.

Trees whisper of years of souls traveled
and the lightening pays our way
with a brilliant guide of triumphant truth
to quiet the crickets who speak
"We are the beacon in the night"
and thunder burns their wings.

Dreams flow within like flowers
of inescapable glimpse of future.

Rocks touch with pain of life
and the candle cleanses our feet
with a calm touch of tingling pleasure
to crush the dead who say
"We are the reality in the night"
and flowers punish their sight.

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