Wilds

The quiet of nature is a myth,

The wilds scream,

The agony of lost souls,

Locked in the eternal,

Battle of survival.

The wind carries the sounds,

Of all living and dying,

All one needs are ears,

And mind with which to hear,

The cacophony.

Hear then, and understand,

Know the wilds — their lives,

Untold mysteries unfold,

In the noise of,

Grief and joy.

© 1978 Carl Erickson