A Sonnet Cycle: The Forgotten Knowing

I. The Silence of the Old Beliefs

Once whispered truths now linger out of reach,
A world once known, now lost to silent air.
The trees still speak, the rivers still beseech,
Yet ears grow deaf, and hearts forget to care.

The stars once wove their stories in the night,
Their glimmers traced a meaning we could trust.
Yet now we weigh them, measure out their light,
And turn their whispers into cosmic dust.

What once was sacred, now is named profane,
For mystery defies the rule of mind.
Yet in the margins, shadows still remain,
And truths half-sensed refuse to stay confined.

The earth still breathes, though we no longer know
A presence lost, yet felt in moonlit glow.

II. The Cost of Knowing Too Much, Yet Not Enough

We chart the heavens, name the winds and tides,
Unweave the rainbow, split the atom’s core.
Yet what is lost when only mind decides
That life is but the sum of things it stores?

A sacred hush once held the dawn in awe,
A whispered voice within the morning’s breath.
Now nature bends beneath the human law,
Its spirit ground beneath the wheels of death.

No god commands, no spirits weave the thread,
No sacred fire burns within the stone.
Yet something calls us still, though long thought dead,
A truth half-seen, a knowing still our own.

For all our grasping, something slips away
An ancient song the world still longs to play.

III. The Return of the Whispered Truths

Yet who decreed that all must be explained?
That measured truth is all that we may trust?
What if the soul of things remains unchained,
Still breathing ‘neath the weight of time and dust?

What if the river sings, though none may hear,
Its waters whispering of deeper grace?
What if the wind still speaks, though we draw near
With instruments, yet fail to see its face?

Not all is lost, though much has been denied.
The stars still burn, though stripped of myth and name.
A world unseen still beckons from the tide,
Still waits for us to hear its voice again.

For truth is not just that which we ‘command’
It dwells in all, if we but take its hand.

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