The heads of the lilacs <br />Go rolling on with an articulate sway <br />And I hear them; <br />A metaphorical note <br />Played in the distance... <br /> <br />I am not speaking of literal things, <br />Only of notions a heart would know, <br />Colors; and the miscellaneous pulses of the universe... <br />For what is an ocean without it's turbulence, <br />It's inaccurate crash? <br />Fruit without the root <br />And, tightened grasp of earth? <br />So, be it everything holds my heart... <br /> <br />I cannot wish for anything to be still, <br />Because even for a withered soul, <br />The spirit silently beats and speaks, <br />It goes off like the heads of lilacs <br />Rolling on with an articulate sway... <br /> <br />Understood or not; <br />I know it. <br /> <br />So let it be that the circumstance <br />Of everything that falls, <br />Sings it's very own silent hum, <br />Wether in motion or either that of painted quiet thought... <br /> <br />Standstill suddenly becomes sacred, <br />For, rhetorically something inside always beats. <br /> <br />Understood or not; <br />I know it... <br /> <br />Colors, and the miscellaneous pulses of the universe.<br /><br />Mimi Mata<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/miscellaneous-pulses-of-the-universe-by-mimi-mata-meyer/
