BEING

Feathered clocks skirt woodland

alleys to healing springs;

silken wisps mark each moment,

tutued dancers leap into

sunlit breezes upon Nature's cue.

Waters bubble from underearth

hollows; the parched

valley refills with life. Velvet scents,

potpourri of elm and

thyme waft over starfields of old.

Far from humanity's pain, beyond

the burden of broken 

dreams, her footsteps trace bliss

upon Earth's Autumn

parchment, mosaic of red and gold.

In the glow of starbirth, she unlocks

her heart, its smiles sole

these woods see. Her disquietude

lies confined in a distant 

dungeon, to glad oblivion consigned.

Twilight unfurls over doleful soughs 

of vespertide zephyrs thro'

bereaved branches. Earth now seeks

rest, silent contemplation,

elusive doctrines of fecund voidness.

"Spaces are as much constellation as 

the stars; a cosmic crash

precedes the calm of solitary stillness.

In subtle tenderness, languid 

posture, shall you see shapes of light."

As a downy brushstroke she floats  

upon an etheric canvas, 

borne o'er the gentle camber of the 

wind's placid paeans

to the spinney's sprightly songsters.

Here 'mid the upwelling of safe silence, 

the strands and planes of 

her soul dance their tribute to Being, 

this day her only axiom.

© 2014 Lily's Verse

Lilium Candidum

Image: WITH THE WIND 
Source: www.liveinternet.ru
Artist: Edward Robert Hughes