Away, the distant gales bring
The noblest trees to weeping.
Far above the valleys sweeping,
Isolated church-bells ring.
Beyond the brittle urban winds
Of cities never sleeping,
A mute and mournful nightly breezing
Sweeps the moon upon its wings.
Somewhere cold and far away.
Peace is never truly lost
It merely doesn't stay.
Raptured by the valley-frost
Into the veiled sea of grey:
Often gone, but never lost.
Simply weeping
Far away.
A sonnet on silence.
#11 in the Distant Dystopia anthology.
© Lewis Hyden, 2018