I cannot find my voice.
I only hear it echo, here and there;
In Groucho Marx's laughter at conventional-stuffiness
and Frederick Buechner's words of true understanding,
in Paul Gruchow's beautiful relationship with nature
and Martin Luther's love of grace,
in desert canyon croonings
and mountain top vistas,
in trees and rivers swaying and flowing
and across endless points of the stretching plains,
in reckless love
and unconditional compassion,
in all the money I've simply gave away
and in possessions I'm no longer possessed by,
in the wild wind and roaring rain
amongst the amazing clarity of pure, fresh air,
in the severe emptiness of dark
and the sheer overflowing beauty of sweet sunlight,
in the few irrefutable men, who are my real brothers
and especially from deep within their open hearts they share.
In all of this
this soul, this spirit-of-being,
I hear, my voice.
when I turn to look at it directly, earnestly,
though its scent lingers deliciously,
like the warmth of the sun on a deep winters day.
And still, my voice, however intangible,
continues to flow as echoes of sentiment
coursing through the relentless runnels of my mind.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (My Voice by Smoky Hoss )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- Raining Beauty, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- LIFE, FRIENDS & EYES OF LOVE, Tom Zart
- Ode to my stalker, or: La Luna Bella, Joseph Green
- Bluebird Of Life, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Space Case File #3,657, Joseph Green
- A Nod to Issa Kobayashi, Arguably my Fav.., Joseph Green
- No one shall, hasmukh amathalal
- Receiving A Post Card, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- my bike is somewhere floating down the m.., Mandolyn Davidson
- Beyond, Anthony Cavuoti