the symphony and the silence

part one: the symphony

if a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? 

do not dare to ask, for the trees sing now

they cry when they fall they harmonise layers of undergrowth

you would hate the sound of saplings stirring in B minor,

if you could hear it: the tempo of the rain,

the rumbling of the roots the chitter of the leaves

the insects murmuring allegretto to the flowers sighing their woes

over the sonata of the birds crooning and this, and this

if only it remained you would love the sound:

it would be worth revering if only, now, because

it reminds you of a memory you might have lived 

that you chase, hungry a little longer, a little wiser

to find nothing but wispy dust see, the people are long gone

the last tree falls and there is no one left to hear it

it cries, it cries, it cries, and then— 

part two: the silence