THE PRIMORDIAL WIND
The soft somniloquy
of the wind in the trees
is trying to reveal
some secret eternal joy
to me.
Some lost truth
of long ago,
trampled
by the iron heel of greed,
and forgotten,
lingering feebly in evolution,
aching
to touch my heart,
and let me understand;
to plant its seed
and live again.
But like the word
on the tip of the tongue,
that inexplicable whisper
is gone again
with the dying of the wind.
Earl M. "Sky" Carpenter 1968
1 comment:
This profound piece of poetry was written by my grandfather. He probably wrote it decades earlier than 1968, but he sent it to me while I was finishing up my time in the Navy. I was writing some angry poetry during the Viet Nam era, and he loved it. But he also wanted me to see "the bigger picture"
Glenn
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