Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Friday, November 10, 2017

Sonnet #219

Walk deep into the wilderness where you are
Be it desert plain or forest hills or swimming out to sea
Where there is no sound of the roads running cars
No sounds of the rumble and bustle of we
Listen where the leaves fall and you can hear it
Where the slightest breeze whispers music
And autumn paints pictures where tree roots sit
And birds recall a world where their cries acoustic
Are all that sounds like a song, are the brooks
there babbling? Are they singing a new song?
Are the waves upon the shore roaring, are you shook?
Do not confuse these noises with peace, that's wrong
Your only peace in that place is that you can go home
Once upon a time, that was the song of the ruins of Rome.

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