Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 22)

~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 22) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~

~

A suserrous sound, a sighing breeze,

As if wind quivering trees,

Slipped serpentine through high canopies,

Whispering words, rustling leaves.

~

Wrapped all around in a wall of sound:

Energetic, faint and low,

Twas if a swarm of droning wasps,

Flew past an open window.

~

Paused by the door, I listened,

I attuned to a melodic thrum:

A scattering of sounds found concordance,

Harmonious as would a song sung.

~

“The music you hear softly flowing:

Cosmic quiddity, never slowing,

‘Tis the jazz and scat of all matter,

Moving to the beat of one drum.”

~

“Away above, atop earthy ground,

An ancient forest thrives,

Where-in there stands a mighty Oak,

Branching into arching skies.”

~

“Upwards she climbs, backwards in time,

Reaching for the edge of space.

From here to there and back again,

She’s part of a weave of lace.”

~

“Said web of thread: life’s complexity,

An entanglement of inter-connectivity.”

“Indeed,” said he, “much like spaghetti –

Are the silken strands of totality.”

~

“For example,” he said, “imagine a place,

Far away, where a star is born.

Its dramatic emergence creates disturbance –

As might wind ripple fields of corn.”

~

“The mighty Oak who reaches high,

Whose splendid span in star-lit skies,

Whose leaves flex differently with each breeze,

She feels star-birth purl cosmic seas.”

~

“And so it is for every sound, for

Every murmur from all around:

 Every atom above or below ground,

As matter chatters a tune is found.”

~

“Crystal-walled this shrine may be, yet,

Bound by root and rocks.

Along deep tubers branching down,

 Comes resonance that never stops.”

~

“At first overwhelming,” he said affirming,

“The intensity of the cosmic voice: but,

You’ll come round to differentiating sound,

An experienced ear offers choice.”

~

“Ahh!” He enthused, “do you hear that?”

“Tiny wings beating of a tiny gnat!”

“Tis a language of sorts, sounds to enthrall –

Given time, you’ll learn them all.”

~

Then to and fro, back and forth,

He moved with practiced motion:

As if a task perfected in time,

Fluid in his locomotion.

~

With candles glowing, he slowing,

And turning, lowering his hood,

Aglow in flickering warm-peach light,

At the center of the shrine he stood.

~

“Welcome,” he said, “to the Hall of Dreams,

This helm, your home, your station.

Much has changed in ten-thousand years,

Since your last incarnation.”

~*~

~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 21) precedes this post. Part 23 to follow soon ~

~*~