Listeners
Where there are listeners
there is no silence.
Either the sounds
of the listeners' minds
rebound
from the boundlessness of space,
or the universe itself pounds
out a multivociferous chatter;
the sound of reaching out,
selecting
rejecting
and pain;
coming together
and falling apart again.
Every plant, every stone, every sun
has its tongue,
its subtle and interminable vibration.
Every whirling planet
and spinning electron
screams (or whispers) its history.
Reaching out
selecting
rejecting
coming together
falling apart again.
Pain.
Where there are listeners
there is no silence.
The universal music thunders discordant tones
the unintended harmony
in its unintended composition;
the sound of creation
and of decomposition.
poem by Brian Taylor
Added by Poetry Lover
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