Do you hear the sounds set by the morning sun?
Awakening in a burst of silence? Standing on it's own fears and tragedies?
Or do you wonder off with no one to calm you and clain you theirs?
Candles, lightened next to the fire within your mind. Can't you put them out with only a whisper, but not whisper your crimes?
Confession, in a temple, is that what worries you so? Afriad of what it would do to you won thoughts, your immortal soul?
Listen . . .
Do you hear the sounds set by the morning sun?
Or the night's moon standing on your thoughts like a burden?
By: Shelly Belk
