sound escape

Earth's first touch for reaching sun, iron age hill fort

looks out over ground held in molten blue, above

all sound, save wind's unseen tongue howling vowels round

consonants of stone left millennia before

humans climbed up, or down to walk under whispers

shifting green, tawny, gone with shadows'  forgotten

secrets blown from sap-sucked twig spokes in seasons' wheel

within turning years, man's gear changes, estranges

us step by step as mud's downtrodden beneath ploughs

and air's cut into time by church bells from the town

while wildlife flees then flows back into tilled gaps, fills

a search for proof of Heaven with evidence : song

from birds, bugs, beasts of all kinds telling us : Life is

and always will be if we stop thinking we're god

sent to understand, control; as a child will

put their finger in a clock's cogs to hold back age

people strive to maximise profit, monetise

even space; choice is ceded, monocrops seeded

so workers in large plants making our breath are fired

interrupting supply chains of good weather, we 

invented other kinds of Peace - both fighting's pause

and all absence of Wild's ability to be. In such

sterile silence a questioning ear's answerless

under the sky, our lonely voice inside, echoing

But.

...let's think outside this box of our cleverness

and find winds blow, waves carry, sun lights us forward

to a future built on sound foundations for all

inspired by Ewan's thought provoking poem The Art Of Noises : A Futurist's Manifesto : https://www.abctales.com/story/ewan/art-noises-futurists-manifesto