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Wind Whispering Wisps


Can you feel that buzz in your ear?
The sound of the world blowing so clear,
As if the spirits danced in trees,
Saying hello as they fly through the breeze,
My eyes delight in seeing breath,
The inner shape of the global path,
So strong it can blow through boughs,
And make man a nothing in size of clouds,

Like thundering friends it is the subtle power,
That breathes the power into the hardest showers,
Like a soft voice from the land of nowhere,
That laughs as it can’t be traced to somewhere,
For if you fallowed the voice in the wind,
You would end up back right where you did begin,
Like the consciousness pulse of the land,
That forces weather to change up what is at hand,

For every story ever written is more dramatic,
If gusting gales bring on more panic,
The setting almost sells the frame of horror and time and place of game,
The beauty of tragedy is it needs summer rain,
The problems of today echoing solidarity,
The wind brings the chorus of wild individuality,
Sculpting the earth like fingers digging in,
The modeling clay sculpted by the eon’s hands,
Like Chronos smiling with cyclical breaking of land,
The wind calls my unknown name,
Like the billows being pushed onto my burning flame,
I hear the breeze and smile at the rain,
The dignity to which I give them some find insane,
For can’t you feel that beautiful pulse,
As it flows through forests with gale strength in force,
And kisses cheeks as snow settles its course,
Like the sky embracing the land in intercourse,
With weather dooming some and saving others,
It is the tricky but impressive brother,
That has changed lives more than any other,
And at days end brings in breathing color,
The feeling of the earth’s skeletal shudder,

I stand outside and feel the boom,
As it rushes fast in gloom,
A thing that brings me joy not sadness,
As rainy and dark can bring gladness,
I hear the world whispering with the wisps,
And stand open armed to the lands great lips…



Sean Stutzman

Our Understanding of Position

This world is but a tiny bubble,
Proven more vigorously by the Hubble,
A beautiful gorgeous bearing mother,
We just the lack an understanding of each other,
Yet we are all so funny and dull,
To believe that creation came from a single null,
In fact a thought from voice I heard,
That humans are so wonderfully absurd,
To think that all this majesty,
Could come from but a single being,
We have so many forces,
That man takes as simple voices,
So funny and stuck to standard choices,
Like crowds of un-looking blinded by poor discourses,
Yet we are jaded to how beautiful it is to mind,
That comes back at dawn and sunset hidden to the blind,
That every force of the land,
Is beyond any human hand,
We are part of little amount,
A tiny bacteria of only billion count,
I hope that one day man will dance,
With heart unbound in sudden chance,
In moonlit field and revel in it even,
And give back to the land which we have everything given…

Sean Stutzman

The Crushing Wheel of Time

As alone I sit looking into dates,
Of Alexander’s and Vercingetorix’s fates,
A thought comes from social clause,
That destroys the mind of genius pause,
For like ants on timeline we get the feel,
That we will be rolled over by the wheel,

The trouble of our cultures mind,
To use the ideas from only noted kind,
Yet this is a lie of all times,
The greatest of humans are forgotten from rhymes,
For only the conqueror lays the story,
The peace loving giants framed as boring,

Yet this blatant disregard for those forgotten to time,
Leads to savage tactics of hell and horror in their own minds divine,
Yet this is a tragic side effect of utility of humans in question,
For in obscurity of concept these mad men rest their bed,
Not goodness to bring back to man,
But destruction the preach as if others understand,
Yet what cause could ever justify killing an innocent,
What heartless malice breeds malcontent,




You mad men of the modern bare no connection to me,
As your choices are vengeance without any mind to see,
For your cause leads to terror no lesson to be seen,
So no wisdom from craze,
Just the highest point of idiocy,
For who would listen after causing such wrong,
And how could you cause that to another in outcome,
You perverters of justice and concept,
For you I hold the greatest discontent,
As you are no better than inquisitors,
Or slayers of the righteous,
Just manipulating truth to cause horror,
Pathetic,

To miss the mark so far from wisdoms shelf,
That by sacrificing people you think you bring attention to yourself,
You shall be the greatest forgotten,
For tragedies stick for but single generations,
And the choice you made from mind, religion, or malice shall fall,
As the lowest of all societies mental recall,
For those who think they will make their name,
By causing horrors and pain,
Know of no hope with the slain,
And recall any murder from ancient claim,
Not a single name comes to brain…



For even the lowly in the myths,
Are secondary to heroes and great minds lived,
Then realize the goal you choose to aim for,
Is long outside the borders to score,
And horror not peace is forgotten,
Only with societal backing are they remembered,
And as a ghost of a terror to never relive,

Than to all those who mean to kill I say this:
No mark on history will you leave,
Just passing sadness is all you can achieve,
To yourself you have given the greatest deceit,
And no power is gained through ideas of concrete,
For the greatest minds on hilltops never were read,
The greatest heroes their stories remain dead,
Then you shall not ever rank to be heard,
For even the glorious are forgotten and never in story served,
And if culture is where you meant to disturb,
The great wheel of time will crush your malice unperturbed,
And return you to nothing which is what you created,
As terror does not echo without administration,
So do yourself a favor and save yourself from lunacy,
And find yourself in love to find a peaceful creed even in insanity,
For life is not meant to squander experience to horror,
And love is a tool that should be shared to all of every flavor,
Let us remember those swallowed by terror as the true memory hold,
And steal from your craze your thunder to return back to part of the mold,



As we are all part of the same species to live,
And although critique can be made what right could ever justify what these men did,
Just like fanatics social game should never give you right,
To sacrifice others and blame it on your strife…
You make no impact just fall away in the night…

For everyone from ages gone is forgotten,
Then we all shall be the same as the wheel continues to ages we can't imagine,


Much Love To All Who Read This,
May Man One Day Show Love To All,
Let All Of Us Know We Are Part Of The Same Game,
And To Treat Life With Respect For All,
Sith Co Nem


Sean Stutzman