A monk sitting at a window
Watching willow leaves
Swirling slowly into silent;
Songs of serenity.
Sensing subtle uncertainty,
Silence punctures sensibility
And hissing leaves come to life,
Speaking in tongues as of yet unheard.
And he asks;
Does this silence mean anything?
It was sought to provide clarity,
But the voice of God does not sound
In thunderous booms like we wish for.
And the silence settles into his heart
Lacking the sediments
Of joy and peace that he hoped for
When solidarity became his home.
And his heart breaks.
For in the quiescence,
His heart has heard a snapping twig
Speak the truth of truths:
To stay still is to simply stagnate,
To love is to live,
And to act is the only way to acquire any wealth,
Whether it be wealth or wisdom
