Sestina

It is palpable, the silence
As on through the darkness I rush.
Up comes the wind,
A bolt of thunder, a flash of light, a voice
In the night. So it is shattered, the peace
That would last through the rain till dawn, I thought.

And now I sit, lost in lands of thought.
Wrapped in my own silence,
I wonder about the chance of peace
In a world where all rush
To be first, to be heard, to have a voice
That flows throughout time like a wind.

Watch the clock. Watch time wind
Down. I would never be old, I thought,
But passing hours speak to me in a voice
That will not be quelled by the silence
Of youth. And so I must rush
To do, to be, and finally peace

Of closure. The kind of peace
That comes with the last breath of wind
that bends the pliant rush
One last time. The thought
of blessed silence
is overcome by the new day, and a voice

Speaks to me. The same spirit that gives voice
To all kinetics. For now, in motion is peace.
In the thunder, there is silence.
Listen to the wind
as it molds itself into thought,
An idea, a command to rush.

And so I live as I rush
From the storm and heed the voice
That pervades my thought.
Within the soul is peace,
says the wind,
And whispers off into silence.

I felt in a wandering thought that only the dreamers know peace
As I am and since I do, I must rush and speak in my soft voice,
Listen and hear clearly the wind, my friends, for all is learned from silence.