The Abiding Silence

Can you these generations hear me over the din of the abiding silence?

Or is my voice now lost amidst the confusion of the sleeping day?

I sometimes sleep in my dreams and drive away the dragons of strife.

Whereas ancient voices speak to my soul and blind gypsies lightly dance.

Thus now on stone mountains which rise abruptly from the gentle sea.

My voice falls in silent notes on broken syllables, lost to last night’s dream.

Lips move without speaking…eyes of strangers look without truly seeing.

Worthless sometimes it seems…these words cast upon the abiding silence.

Lying softly in the sleeping day; broken only by the gypsies’ dance where ancient voices speak.

J. Allen Wilson © 6/23/2011