There Is Wildness Here
There is wildness here,
Raw and raging
Beneath this exterior,
Pulsing.
There are visions here,
Soaring over lifetimes of leaf-filled trees
And rust-colored hills,
Over yellow fields,
Over oceans.
There is forgetting here
Of the small things people say,
The small things people do.
There is a last angry echo
Of the unheard voice,
The deeper self,
The truer self,
The wilder self
That wearies of all man-made things.
There is a silence here
That grows and infuses,
Like the melancholy tint
Of an old photograph,
An old photograph you walk around in,
Examining with wonder the frozen, yet flowing
Moments of a life.
There is a wildness here
That rises like an immense stone,
Floating impossibly
In the pure blue sky
Of a secret spring.
~ Russ Allison Loar
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