THE MYSTIC II

A tearless cry is your first silent pledge,

the silver key that unlocks

the doorway to breath, that you may

yield to Fate's Circle.

This herald of your path's commencement,

your newborn wail,

falls through the Sandglass' neck,

raising your spirit into the Now,

into a communion with the Moment

your youthful steps shall forswear,

as you contemplate its fore and aft,

for such is a mortal's wont.

Ponder not Time's flow, but his ubiquity,

for this spiral deity reigns

beside his God.

Aye, he receives the priestess' orison;

his Eye follows the mystic's journey;

his Voice punctuates the poet's praise.

Resonance of their devotion,

pathway and art he gives unto their skies,

that they may bide infolded

in azure troves. These they shall rain upon

hearts that lament the world's tumult,

for such are sensible of the Love

that transforms the spirit's peregrination

into profoundest expressions

of hand and eye.

Therefore, weep, not in despair, but that you

may breathe anew, as an infant

in Time's own arms reaffirming your pact

with Being, with its seeking.

Gather unto you ancient echoes,

for these promise an easing of the Disorder

that dulls Life's silver flow.

Beauty and Truth shall prevail, mayhap under

Stars yet unseen, where you shall

tread plains of joy and sorrow alike in gratitude.

Time's passage shall not measure

your course, nor the whirling of Earths pause

your vessel. Your gifts bestowed

upon the Source shall mark the rhythm

of your soul's eternal flight.

© 2016 Lily's Verse

Lilium Candidum

Image: NIGHT IN THE FOREST

Source: www.pinterest.com

Artist: William Louis Sonntag

FLAME III

It was not the clock that

claimed your breath, 

mother,

though its relentless ticking

closed as a vise

around your throat.

No spring-driven beat could

silence the echo

of Life's pulse, nor a synthetic

clangour efface 

the immortal poesis

of an ever present past.

Death's talons could not mar

the face of tomorrow

that shines amid those 

whose sole endeavour is to

appease an emptiness

that holds illusions of meaning

and rhythm,

a Reality that scars their flesh 

and steals their years,

the hours they choose to fill

or kill with shadows

and hollow sounds.

Earth's palette is my claviature,

the moonflower's breath

my metronome, for therein

dwells Time's essence.

My dreams shall not lie 

stifled, concealed, 

beneath dried blooms 

in a book of moments.

No, they are indiscernible from

woodland and ocean,

dawn and twilight,

from Nature's very heartbeat.

Hopeful utterances, 

the pace of my thoughts,

the wing beats of my soul,

these shall measure my path.

My flame shall strike

discordant chimes in the vault

of your false temple.

© 2016 Lily's Verse

Lilium Candidum

Image source: www.pinterest.com

Artist: Vladimir Kush

SOLSTICE MOON

From a shell of vaporous nacre

you emerge,

Pearl of this Solstice eve,

illuming the tenebrous lane that

leads the spirit to equilibrium.

As gossamer your argent balm

alights upon the Season's golden arc,

as the Muse's Reflection and Eye

that ensoul the marble,

ere the Artist's hand shapes

a fluid stillness

from its veined mosaic.

Your mystical ivory hand realigns,

rejoins disclaimed, broken strands,

guiding kindred souls

to the shoreline of your liquid sanctum,

that they may find their mirrors

by the light of your own.

I would offer the blessing onward,

fair goddess, 

rendering your luminous precepts

in words and hues, that my memory

of your Grace may gladden

hearts yet unborn.

I shall measure the passage of this rare

light in heartbeats,

for hours could scarce hold the silver

of such remembrance,

for each ray is a messenger, 

immense, boundless,

as an ungated moment of easement

flowing eternally through

Heart, Circle and Home.

© 2016 Lily's Verse

Lilium Candidum

Image: FISHING PARTY (edited)

Source: commons.wikimedia.org

Artist: Fitz Henry Lane

CIRCLE

Within the Circle, mortals flourish,

deathless souls retracing

Life's unseen arcs, Time's limpid

brushstrokes looping through

the soundless, motionless ether.

Eternity straddles Universes, this,

the mind construes not,

its thoughts and questions strewn

as broken branches amid

shattered clocks, for Time's path,

meets not the hand and eye,

nor surges unbending

across realms of light and matter.

His lines weave the souls of worlds,

binding discrepant patterns,

raying inward and outward around a

Golden Axis that guides

each breath and pulse.

Within their darkness, mystics seek

its Locus, the Divine,

the ouroboros, the luminous spiral

that is the spirit's brace and anchor.

I, as they, would quest

for the Light within,

for the apotheosis of this earthly path.

Within the Circle, mortals shall perish,

departing from its coil,

fractioning hours, days and Seasons,

clasping minutes and moments,

these repositories for memories,

our formless aliment upon a journey

of presence in Time.

© 2016 Lily's Verse

Lilium Candidum

Image: THE SOUL BREAKING THE TIES THAT BIND IT TO EARTH

Source: www.liveinternet.ru

Artist: Pierre-Paul Prud'hon

SHADOWS II

Brown shadows of Spring blooms

descend upon a pale grey urn

through the querulous creaking

of a wind vane in the shifting light.

Little dark suns wheel over a silver

etching of lanceolate leaves,

Earth, vane, floral silhouettes -

Life spins over a realm of ashes.

Reverie bears the weight of the Day

into Twilight, the inertia of

Time unmoving, of gloom unyielding,

bars the gate to memory's haven.

And I must traverse the fringes of my

soul where our roses blossom,

sister, their hues and shapes known,

remembered, yet nameless.

I shall await you amid the verdure that

held our wonder and reverence,

ere we surrendered such to words,

our spirits echoing water, leaf and air.

Some aberrant fragrance still casts its

curving lines upon our skin,

wispy coils curling past the soundless

sound of the wind on wing.

Would you tell of the peace of the dying,

of the wordless language of death,

of the eternal hush within a breathing

stillness beyond raging pain?

Shall we bide in our childhood's garden,

till the lark's golden bell sounds

Night's death knell, with the ancient well

drink in the Morning?

© 2016 Lily's Verse

Lilium Candidum

Image: A THORN AMIDST ROSES

Source: www.pinterest.com

Artist: James Sant

METANOIA II

The rain-cribled stone rings my name,

tones of water and sky

unfurling upon the tides of my being

that surge towards twilight.

Upon the steps of the goddess' shrine,

each violet droplet twinkles,

yet, with a lesser brilliance than does

the brine upon my cheek -

this my heart would believe -

for it bears my spirit's memories

of yesternight's jewelled vault,

of white-gold fire that flows unceasing

between Firmament and Eye.

And there shall my soul dwell this night,

awaiting the strength of stars,

every one reaching

across Universes and Time

to the Crossroads upon which we bode,

ere we were thrust forth into Life.

Shall we, blessed brethren, return to

a celebration of awakening,

of paths I embraced ere mortal impulse

sought to vanquish my purpose?

Shall I once more know the Silence

of a Breath and an Aeon, the stillness

upon the threshold of the Void

that received my resolve to contemplate

Spirit and Cosmos, to live and labour,

that heart, mind and hands

may echo the voice of the Source?

© 2016 Lily's Verse

Lilium Candidum

Image: QUESTION TO THE STARS

Source: www.liveinternet.ru

Artist: Karl Wilhelm Diefenbach