Listen,
What do you hear?
Is that the soft sound of stillness
Brushing past your ear?
Or the rushing roar of wisdom,
Ripping out your fear.
And that,
Are those images the same kind?
A fleeting glance of nothing
Playing with your mind.
Or just the touch of a passing shadow,
That your eye can never find.
Don’t speak,
You’ll ruin the moment.
Scent and touch that tell so much,
Are never truly silent.
So we find our senses tell us nothing,
But rule us as a tyrant.