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By Noah Craig The silence does crawl up the side of the mountain Footfalls dampened by the lost fir needles On a trail that decreed decibels banned Random guard posts of lightning-struck trees manned By a vast army of slugs and beetles Even the sweet song of the bird melts in the sun That dares to pierce the solid canopy Tranquility has been woven and spun Into the fabric of its rocky lungs Which itch to sing a song still yet to be The arboreal steeples blanket the mossed stone-- If only they’d broadcast to the valley-- And exhort all beneath to lie down prone And to submit to the thin breeze alone And to eat but from the placid galley A perpetual lull before the crescendo-- Violins hidden within ancient stumps-- The sole era known as far as men go Yearning for time’s burden to relent so The peak may join in chorus with the trumps Noah J Craig is an author and a poet who hopes that his words will glorify the ultimate Author. Originally from New England, he currently lives in Henderson, Nevada. If he’s not writing, reading or drinking coffee, he is most likely halfway up a mountain wishing he had more storage space on his camera. You can visit him online at noahjcraig.com.
Noah's other work on Foreshadow: Strength (Poetry, March 2023)
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