Everywhere is the same: there is
no music in the evenings, no art
on the walls. The radio is silent
and we do not know what to do
with our time. We have forgotten
how to celebrate the way the sky
glows with fire or the moonshine
on the sea, its shimmering haze
and hypnotic song. Forgotten how
words slot together between each
and every moment of our days,
and how the colours abstract
as light fades and disappears.
Students of the future take note:
it will be dark and arid. Climb
out of the car, turn the engine off
and listen to the voices of the birds,
the singing fish, your footprints
on the ground, all the noises of
the evening, til the night is done.
Find a vision of yourself and try
to put it into language. Hum
a little and pay attention to
the echo. Find a way to worship
and write a liturgy to share.
We are listening in the silence.
© Rupert Loydell