There’s a certain silence one hears
‘Neath nightfall’s shroud;
The moon – cold, bleak, and worn but otherworldly wonder –
Illuminates the darkness with reflected light
But adds no warmth to chill
As it speaks to souls
– sans tongue or whisper –
While making Passage ‘cross the blackened sky.

Fog rolls in to fill the air o’er meadows lush with life
But makes no sound
As it embraces all within its path;
It speaks to only those who dare to hear
Of chill, of mystery, of thoughts embedded deep within
Subconscious memories of Passages from long ago,
Of things we never knew, but – still – we somehow know.

Snowflakes make no sound as they shroud the earth in white –
Nor do dewdrops gracing flowers in the meadow
As they nurture life with noiseless splash.
The fragrance of the rose, illuminations of the stars –
All are silent, yet fill the hearts of those
In Passage not complete –
Of Souls alive who see and feel
And dare to Love.

Dreams are silent, as are written words.
Yet each speak softly, or in loud voice,
As they unfold tales before mind’s eye
To display passions, pains, and loves
Imagined in this life,
This life which marches ever forward,
Inexorably, toward that final Passage to the great unknown
Which lies beyond the end.

Love is silent, more so than moon,
More so than dreams, than fog or dew,
Or snow, or fragrances,
More silent than starlight –
Yet Love shouts to even those of stolid ear:

Abide in me your Heart, your Soul!
Listen to the voice of Beauty whispered on the breeze
That you may hear the Joy of Truth,
And know ’tis Love which carries you
From birth, through death beyond.
Be freed upon my wings!
And most of all, believe in this:
With Love collected in the Soul,
No Passage

About frugalchariot

How Frugal is the Chariot That bears the Human soul. (Emily Dickinson)
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