Stream of Rhythm
Eric Bonholtzer
Till the muted soil, singing hymns of good work
Eric Bonholtzer
Feeding the begging mouths of livestock
As the gentle flow of a brook hums in the distance
Retreat from the world, some would call it
Others still paradise
The simple pleasure of watching a beaming sun
Settling amid azure skies and sweeping expanses
Over hills rising like leavened bread or lighted clouds
Never minding, no burden, till time stands still
And greater journeys await
The solace, the solitude, the supplication of giving thanks
For the love, the bond, the spirit and spirits of the land
Always turning and repeating with a swooning smile
A feel, a gentle caress, like the enfolding arms of a tranquil river
Or a parent's loving arms
There are memories, the remembrance for existence
Remnants of a guidebook that grows ever harder to discern
Unless one knows how to find it
Like moss obscuring, only waiting to be swept away
And so what is beneath can be read clean,
Drank like waters of life,
Flowing freely from the stream.
