Wednesday, October 27, 2004


The rhythmic crashing, of ocean waves upon the sand,
Speak of mysteries, mortals cannot understand.
The whisper of chattering palms in the breeze,
Speak a language known only to the trees.
Crackling sparks on a burning wood fire,
Kindle in us some ancient desire.
The trickle of water, in winding streams,
Rock us gently in hypnotic dreams.

The murderous sound of whistling shells,
Of anguished cries, a thousand hells,
The last breath of a child dying,
A heartbroken mother, left crying.
In thunderous crash, God’s anger sound.
In tumbling rain, his tears abound.
Oh! sounds of men do bring us fear.
T'is the sound of God, we need to hear.

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