Formations of greatness,
bound in seed
and watered without bias
raising irregular
unconstrained hands
like an ocean
lifting a sound with its body
as waves clap approval
and stretch a mounted force
greater than fists or hate.
Footsteps signal a movement,
a start,
the middle of going,
a journey to be there.
People are the tears of the
present,
a mountain of grief shed
from the past;
hope opens where defeat
brings shadows.
There is a quiet noted by sleep
on roads stretching into a boring
darkness.
The value of gold pales when
compared to the power of
silence.
Roger Singer 