The Source
After all these years the stones
Have stopped singing, their tongues
Silenced in the chill autumn night.
What can it mean, this emptiness, how
Far have we wandered from the path
That we now reside in this quiet canyon?
We gaze into dark mirrors and fail
To see the creatures prowling behind our eyes,
Our connection to what is feral.
What price this forgetting, what loss
The stars failing to console us,
To make sense of what our eyes see?
The stones no longer sing, the birds
No longer reflect our deepest fears,
All this and more we have lost.
We step out into the cold night
Having misplaced our connection
to the source on which our bodies feed.
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