The heads of the lilacs br Go rolling on with an articulate sway br And I hear them; br A metaphorical note br Played in the distance... br br I am not speaking of literal things, br Only of notions a heart would know, br Colors; and the miscellaneous pulses of the universe... br For what is an ocean without it's turbulence, br It's inaccurate crash? br Fruit without the root br And, tightened grasp of earth? br So, be it everything holds my heart... br br I cannot wish for anything to be still, br Because even for a withered soul, br The spirit silently beats and speaks, br It goes off like the heads of lilacs br Rolling on with an articulate sway... br br Understood or not; br I know it. br br So let it be that the circumstance br Of everything that falls, br Sings it's very own silent hum, br Wether in motion or either that of painted quiet thought... br br Standstill suddenly becomes sacred, br For, rhetorically something inside always beats. br br Understood or not; br I know it... br br Colors, and the miscellaneous pulses of the universe.