When great trees fall
rocks on distant hills shudder
lions hunker down
in tall grasses
and even elephants
lumber after safety
When great trees fall
in forests
small things recoil into silence
their senses
eroded beyond fear
When great souls die
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile
We breathe, briefly
Our eyes, briefly
see with
a hurtful clarity
Our memory, suddenly sharpened
examines
gnaws on kind words
unsaid
promised walks
never taken
Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us
Our souls
dependent upon their
nurture
now shrink, wizened
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance, fall away
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of
dark, cold
caves
And when great souls die
after a period peace blooms
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us
They existed. They existed
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed
― Maya Angelou
Words Dancing On The Wind 