Sounds of the Sun

Trembling below hearing,

we would notice only if it stopped.

Startled, we would stop,

naked of the sound we wear as skin.

Throbbing like the heart

of someone we love

far away.

Low mountains of sound

vibrate against the snow.

The snow sparkles, trembles,

but is not crushed beneath

the pressure of the sound

flying across space from

a time close the The Beginning.

Advertisements

About alicebarrett

Small town writer
This entry was posted in Literature, Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s