The Listening Post
There is a listening post that I sit by,
in the deepness of vacancy.
I listen there for hours,
to see what I can see.
Smoke and Vapor surround the hill-top,
a bird will occasionally cry.
As I sit and watch and listen,
to the sounds of time drifting by.
I put a rein on my thoughts,
or soon they will run away.
And dream of other dreams,
where minds should never play.
It happens all too often,
soon days and months are gone.
Then the calling of my life cries,
come back where you belong.
A dreamer dreams his dreams,
surrounded by nothingness he sighs.
and hears off in the faintness,
the formation of morning skies.
Yes every dream will have its dawn,
the radiance of birth shines through.
As I sit amongst the vacancy,
and do what dreamers do.
Just over a distant hill-top,
and beneath the songbirds trill,
comes to me this vision.
of things that certainly will.
The birth of days new freshness,
amongst the brillance of morning sun.
Lights the place my spirit rests,
by the listeng post with the One.
Revelations dawn again,
as many times before.
Will I stop and let them in.
before chasing after more.
So many new horizons,
so much more I hear.
While sitting in the vacancy,
I pull it all so near.
I write it down on paper,
but I admit I'm already gone.
Back out to the listening post,
flying on a song.
The songbirds trill fills the air,
I rest on a seat of feathers ever light.
And I sit out by the listening post,
and listen on through the night.
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