Tuesday 21 June 2016

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

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