Tuesday, October 24, 2017

In remembrance - 7/7/2017

When Great Trees Fall  
Maya Angelou
 
When great trees fall, 
rocks on distant hills shudder, 
lions hunker down 
in tall grasses, 
and even elephants 
lumber after safety.
 
When great trees fall 
 in forests, 
small things recoil into silence, 
their senses 
eroded beyond fear.
 
When great souls die, 
the air around us 
becomes light, rare, sterile. 
We breathe, briefly. 
Our eyes, briefly, 
see with a hurtful clarity. 
Our memory, suddenly sharpened, 
examines, 
gnaws on kind words 
unsaid, 
promised walks 
never taken.
 
Great souls die and 
our reality, bound to 
them, takes leave of us. 
Our souls, 
dependent upon their nurture, 
now shrink, wizened. 
Our minds, formed 
 and informed by their 
radiance, 
fall away. 
We are not so much maddened 
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance 
of dark, cold 
caves.
 
And when great souls die, 
after a period peace blooms, 
slowly and always 
irregularly. Spaces fill 
 with a kind of 
soothing electric vibration. 
Our senses, restored, never 
to be the same, whisper to us. 
They existed. They existed. 
We can be. Be and be 
better. For they existed.

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