Silence

Upon a peak a throne of land,
Still as a grave, I solemenly stand.
Quietly in december, with silver hours dreaming and tremors of long lost meeting,
Lost in a moment of wonder,
Down the hill I saunter.

Mained clouds and fluorescent stars blend into the metallic water bold.
Light drips through the web of branches, seeping like melted gold.
Wind sways into nothingness,
Giving way to a story untold.
Voices are all but a shiver.
Prayers and whispers swept up by the river.
And atlast
An escape from the noise and haste
To dwell on the brink of silence.