I want to hear the child within speak again
The long lost language of flowers and stars
The future that is the ancient past
The whisper that is the tranquil now
I do not seek material things, but lift
Lift the veil of the whisper of the wind
Beneath the silence that all things return
Time is a silver slice of breeze in Spring
The world doesn’t require us to be anything
But how the cosmos moves us from within
I want to know the verses of tomorrow
Whose pale light will linger like a muted trombone
Into the night’s treachery of existence
Where the choices are made that guide our ever-afters
There are no subtle songs of the forest life
Only the make-believe of men and his bots
There are no solutions left to the problems we’ll create
Because we are the great trouble-makers in the galaxy
I want to hear the soul’s trembling voice who rarely speaks
That glimmer of the unknown blessedness kept deep within
That does not flight or suffer from these mortal wounds
Or have a need for answers in history’s definate touch
That was not so all-defining after all, just another story
Lost to the light of a billion suns.
Wuji Seshat 