The Bless Of My Own Silence....

in this place
the first thing that i hear every morning
is the song of the birds
on top of trees
as they prepare to leave
after a night's sleep

as i open my window
and light is still young like some eyes blinking
i wonder
what are these birds up to
they do not build their nests here
they just come
spend a night and then leave and are back again
on the same hour of the same night

i try to ask more questions
that i myself have to answer
but then
something comes up within
the reasons do not really matter
it is their songs
the harmony with the wind
the joy of the trees
the bliss
of my own silence....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!