Where Silence is a Trespass
For Molson
By Kody John Bosch
Where Silence is a Trespass
The musical duress
where the yellow fritillaria
grows on rusty tailing piles
where the bone dry, sun bleached
building, leans minutely -further- every year -
The End of the world.
The End of The Road.
The Quiet Refuge
the howling wind.
the golden wheat
wind blown, swept over by Invisible Hand.
Invisible forces well up -
mighty in their way
and our Tenuous Hold
on The Land.
Quietly Prevails.
The Quiet Dignity
stoic, heads held high
the miles of barbed wire
the open endless sky
twisted in purpose
the winding road,
the Craggy Draw -
Where even Silence is a trespass
the groaning combine works on -
the swayback horse
the grange lights are on
the Quiet yearning Desperation
the Glacier Scoured Land -
Begging the land to bear fruit,
with gnarly , twisted hands - Behind, Resoulute
The Plow.
The Wind howls secrets through
The Ponderosa Pine Trees.
In Fortitude, we press on against Oblivion -
Our Legacy, We hope to Hold -
Against the Multitudes of nameless forgotten -
The door latch, not shut -
it bangs, wild, in the wind -
the roof metal peels -
even it protests its purpose -
Quiet, in Infinite Dignity
While Knuckled we Hold on
In God's Sculpture Park -
the Tails, like Flags of white tailed deer -
in retreat,
Signaling what ?
There is no retreat, in this brutal land,
We Press On.
In infinite Dignity - the Silence we Loathe to
Tread Upon.
For Molson
By Kody John Bosch
Where Silence is a Trespass
The musical duress
where the yellow fritillaria
grows on rusty tailing piles
where the bone dry, sun bleached
building, leans minutely -further- every year -
The End of the world.
The End of The Road.
The Quiet Refuge
the howling wind.
the golden wheat
wind blown, swept over by Invisible Hand.
Invisible forces well up -
mighty in their way
and our Tenuous Hold
on The Land.
Quietly Prevails.
The Quiet Dignity
stoic, heads held high
the miles of barbed wire
the open endless sky
twisted in purpose
the winding road,
the Craggy Draw -
Where even Silence is a trespass
the groaning combine works on -
the swayback horse
the grange lights are on
the Quiet yearning Desperation
the Glacier Scoured Land -
Begging the land to bear fruit,
with gnarly , twisted hands - Behind, Resoulute
The Plow.
The Wind howls secrets through
The Ponderosa Pine Trees.
In Fortitude, we press on against Oblivion -
Our Legacy, We hope to Hold -
Against the Multitudes of nameless forgotten -
The door latch, not shut -
it bangs, wild, in the wind -
the roof metal peels -
even it protests its purpose -
Quiet, in Infinite Dignity
While Knuckled we Hold on
In God's Sculpture Park -
the Tails, like Flags of white tailed deer -
in retreat,
Signaling what ?
There is no retreat, in this brutal land,
We Press On.
In infinite Dignity - the Silence we Loathe to
Tread Upon.