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