The Deepest Sound
The deepest sound is the sound of myself, the sound that has no words, a writer without the written word, a singer with no lyrics to sing. That is who I am, a wordless one, lost in the echoes of silence reverberating from the depths of myself out into a universe of sound. Meteors rush, galaxies rise, stars implode. In this space, I lie silent. My soul intact, my spirit high, I reach to the sky and sing. My song of silence embraces all, encircles all. Being inside the sound of life, creation, chaos, and order, I, soundless one, hear.
The Music of You
O You, who blew the notes of my being into existence, trumpet into my ear and teach me. Blow Your word into my brain, into my body, until I become suffused with divine energy, with the music of Your being. I hear Your syncopated jazz rendition. It reaches out from quiet house to noisy street. I stand on the sidewalk and listen. The tune is You. I want it to be me. O make of me that rendition of Your love, that creates music here. Trilled, thrilled, spilled and filled, willed, the music wafts from me. I hear its sound and stand in awe. Can this be me? Of course, it can be. You are the master music maker.
The Music of Myself
The music of myself sings. There is no rest. Note—upon note—upon note, there is no rest. Myself sings. I sing, You sing, we sing, the music of ourself, the music of You, O universal self, the music of You.
©2023 P. C. Moorehead
All rights reserved
P. C. Moorehead…
…now appreciates the peace and silence of the rural Wisconsin woods after living in California’s busy Silicon Valley for many years. The trees provide an inspiring environment for her writing and reflection. Nature images appear frequently in her writing. Her poetry and prose have been published in many journals, anthologies, and other publications.