The Urban Poetess

To consume less,
To create more.

We fill the room with noise
To chase down the ghosts
Who slip past us
Without us looking up from
The screen.

To silence this is
To find solace.

To wake up from this slumber
Is to notice the song
Erupting from within

To sing softly
Under the breath
Is to chant like hummingbird wings
And fluttering leaves
And cresting waves

It is not the loud cries from the mountain top
But the whispers in the valley
That carry these words on down feathers and dandelion seeds
Through the mist and the breeze
Until we are heard
Barely, but broadly
Over the sounds of
setting suns
And rising moons,
And shooting stars.
We whisper wishes
And listen for the whimpers
Of those before us

They will not blare
But we will hear them between radio signals
In the static of snow