Still the voice of life cries out to me

Still the voice of life cries out to me.  I hear it beckoning from the shores of distant seas, from the dense woodlands a few hours from here, and upon the wind disguised as every bird’s song and every insect’s chirrup—not to mention the howl of the air itself as it wisps by in graceful dances against my ears.

Still the voice of life cries out to me.  I feel it brush against my skin as the mosquito glances upon my flesh in search of food.

Still the voice of life cries out to me.  I bathe in it as this weekend’s rain falls upon me like a lover’s caress, touching and stroking and offering a compassionate embrace from the heavens.

Still the voice of life cries out to me.  I wade through its essence as my every step carries me away from too much civilization, too many cars, throngs of people, and the unending parade of want and greed that marks our place on the landscape.

Still the voice of life cries out to me.  I think it in every word left unwritten as I writhe my way through this tangle of disingenuous humanity, every page of my novels still embodied by unfulfilled promises as I focus on survival, and every chapter left incomplete so I might focus on making it through a journey I do not wish to take.

Still the voice of life cries out to me.  I experience it with eyes feasting upon clouds as they waltz across celestial dance floors.

Still the voice of life cries out to me.  I miss it with every bit of nature lost in my surroundings, every species pushed to extinction or evacuation, every life snuffed out by uncaring people, and every moment of splendor taken away by selfish hands.

Still the voice of life cries out to me.  I suffer the pangs of memories lost for what should have been meaningful instances with friends and family.

Still the voice of life cries out to me.  I weep its call every evening when I arrive home too late to give The Kids the time and attention they deserve and need, every day when chores fill more hours than does play and affection with my children, every minute as time escapes with the necessities of living rather than the necessities of life.

Still the voice of life cries out to me.  When will I finally stop and listen?

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