wispy murmurs upon the air
soul sounds softly cooing like doves
too low to seduce the ear
attracting little attention
yet requiring awareness
and deep intuition
though it is knowledge that cannot be obtained
outside of the whirlwind
for those trapped in the funnel cloud chaos
alone, frightened, riding the eye to its destiny
within the storm's relentless violence
there is in this experience
clarity now-- made plain--
numerous mysteries
conspicuous in that time, in that place, in that state
when the mind bends low, kneels to fate
an unfamiliar encounter
evidence leaves its mark
like a cattle brand
upon the insubstantial
the intangible
it is one's spirit that whispers
its joy and its pain
pleads with you to acknowledge
to listen
to sing the song of the night
and the rain
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