Hush...

Signs of odium have vanished, desolated howling has stopped, and wandering days are no more.

Hush, you shall not speak of it, the harvest remembers not the drought, nor do the creatures of the forest recall its dead, they rejoice for the life given.

Listen, Here begins the crescendo,

Hush, I say, you can hear whispering ideas of rebirth, roaring waterfall, a bouquet of flowers, the melody of the woods, and they fear none.

Ripped open did the blossoms, along with birds’ loud piercing joys, leaves caught in a hustle within of the mighty trees, Fluids wedged in games of crossings.

Lurked and lingered twisted life, the sun has set for you, look upwards, the moon will be silent to your cries no longer, nor will the earth fill your path with stones.

Hush, here begins the crescendo be quite no more.

By Lisbon Ferrao