Small

Listen, dear reader, to the speed of sound,
silence devastating your ears.
Can you feel existance crashing down?
Clockwork of time's turning gears...

A seed is born into the wind,
bloack crows wings cracking loud.
Every word and every phrase hangs
beneath the pine trees tall and proud.

Reader, does it make you feel insignificant
when you look up and see the stars?
They reflect a story not your own...
too perfect for your petty scars.

What of when you hear the wind?
It crashes all around your head.
Does it make you feel scared and small
to know it will still be here when you are dead?

Forests from the tiniest seed,
dropped into the fertile ground.
What are we but raindrops, dear?
Our words are naught but a mere sound.

Do you find it amazing though
you who see love within this place?
That God created every single star
and yet shows us redemptive grace.