All Of The Babies, They Can Feel the World; That's Why They Cry
the ancients could find
comfort in meaning
in paradox and irony
but they didn't know a thing
outside the primal workings
of a manifest god
found in circles and trees
rivers
sunsets
unmovable mountains
the ability to rely
solely on blistered hands
and soft kisses
I can hear a bird sing
as the wind makes all the leaves
in a forest shiver
with a single breath
it's beautiful
but it doesn't mean a thing
to me
my soft hands are as blind
as my hardened lips are numb
to such will
poem by Wes Thompson
Added by Poetry Lover
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