Be the Sound



fallen tree’s vibration

without an ear lacks sound

are words and thoughts like the tree?

are emotions real?


do they just resonate against the hearts of others?

making music when the right string is plucked


we live on islands secured by wood and stone

walls contain the spattered tears

the tide of blood

the stink of our noxious sweat

hidden under lock and key

well placed as a smile

we are made bright by illusion


hidden from others

in the light of our own making

do we exist?

do we make a sound?


given choice

better to live a life

like the aging oak

majestic among seedling

giver of life and succor

gazed upon in awe

sending shudders through hearts

upon the final fall




About Phil

Hi, my name is Phil. I’ve managed to escape the corporate world, rid myself of excess belongings, travel the country extensively in my old Winnebago, and find a new home on a beautiful barrier island in the Gulf of Mexico. I define myself as: a free spirit, a writer, a philosophical anarchist, a poet; a lover of nature, a lover of art, a protector of animals, as well as a devoted friend and partner
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