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Chimes.
The days that come and go
grant no rest no matter how deeply
the heart filled chest draws breath
through those caves where sleep prevails
in its own-most nether worldly place.
To be made a tree bearing leafy canopy
to sunny warmth, a day more complete
there could never be in balanced harmony
between what’s over head and beneath the feet
of those who yet still walk in wonder:
A greater silence always preferable
to small sounds so often spoiled
by background noise speaks volumes
more in saying so much less
by way of small bells chiming
when the wind blows.
