We are woven in the majestic
                      verses of past voices.
Made silent by time,
           but etched within the fallen trees
that hold these voices
                                      within them.

For every moment is a page turned.
           A collection of reflections that
                                             when read,
collect within a picture  
           of every ballad concealed within.


So many compassions of emotion are bonded
                                                 within sentences.
When a tree falls it makes no sound.
But the words its carries afterwards,
make those inspired to reach higher
                            any branch that soared before it.