sheltered by fear or desire
stroked by the wind
and the swaying branches
hidden by time
as space widens

I saw the cliffs
the black sand
and the sweltering frothy coastline
in this opening in the forest
led by hippies
the alternative America
rests unheard

the choice to remain silent
a voice unspoken
an act untaken
a decision unmade

we lie in the eternal life of the spirit
our words as rusty tools
lying by the side of the road

but as we learn to sharpen
and whet our tongues
the sound of the scythe will hiss
at the back of the neck
and a stream of consciousness
will flow to accept or fight
for the battle of expression