Saturday, 30 July 2016


The mystery of Life she expounds
to your inmost flame;
your vessel she blesses, that it may
heed Time's decree.
No mortal affliction shall impede
your pathway to her favour;
the deaf may hear her tones,
the blind, see her light,
the mute, chant her praise,
the lame, sway in her radiance,
for she moves the Soul to
hear and speak, to dance and sing.
Her whisper whelms
the tyrant's roar, her touch enfeebles
the barbs of man's contempt.
Her tints she rains upon your domain,
even upon shores of your unbelief
that repel tides of Hope.
Her voice you would discern
in the moonlight tinkling upon the rill;
its silver tones take
unto your heart. Seek her, as the lily
that lines the grave
looks up to the Sun she no more sees.
Call to her in silent worship,
as a swan to the one rainbow that
knows its death-song.
In dreams, journey to your Spirit's birth,
to where Truth's golden shadow falls,
for, upon its eternal crest,
Beauty renews herself.

© 2016 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Artist: John Duncan

Monday, 25 July 2016


The Calm after the Storm rises about
my bruised and broken form
as a stone-white Temple,
a shadow-lit space for contemplation
where the very air revels in an
inviolable Stillness,
and the raw, ravaging emptiness in my
soul transmutes into the echo
of a faraway ringing within the Silence.
In the ampleness of this Hollow,
Pathway to Rebirth, Womb of Healing,
my wretched spirit discerns
the voice of the Void,
my pulse, the pull of a Star
that breathed gold where I now kneel.
My flame grows
into its misty Orb, dissolving into the
dusky air-scape that
fuses Time, Being and Memory.
For a deathless moment, I burn gold,
guiding the rise and fall
of the Wheel, leading the Seasons.
Here, where Death hunts Life
and prating stifles Wisdom, I seek Home
in the blazing blue of Mystery's halls,
for, by their pure light,
Elements, Nature and Aether unite,
for to lend our words meaning.

© 2016 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Image source:
Artist: Rafał Olbiński

Tuesday, 19 July 2016


Melody and chime reverent combine,
bursting into light,
not a sun-kindled blaze,
but one wakened by a tinder of Dawn
upon an altar wrought of
worshipful notes and greening Hope.

The Faith I forsook in fervid fury floats
upon a cyan waft,
beaming its gold to Apollo's height,
calling fearful fledglings to flight.
And one feathered flame,
Source and creation allied,
harmony and horizon on wing,
pipes a blue-grey strain that brings
forth restoring rain,
new hues to fading Summer blooms
that trace the last parched verso
of the Season's chronicle.

In a crystal drop dwells the grace that
shall crown some Autumn's
first sheaf, blessing the Circle,
though its journey be brief.
I bide, ungrateful, still, upon the Path, 
nor Hope, nor Faith in my heart,
in hands the Poet's tome
vast as his spirit, its heart open to Home.
The sounds of his soul 
I shall shall take for my victuals,
the sky's outpourings for my drink.
Sole such shall guide my steps
to substance and strength.

© 2016 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Image source:
Artist: Vladimir Kush

Thursday, 14 July 2016


The shadow of a lost Voice converged
with my own, as I ran
to catch the distance, the next drop of
a dying Sun. Fear propelled
my unreckoning self, one that perceives
not Life within stasis.

A blue mist parted, unveiling a dream of
roses that await a child's wonder
upon a ground green with legacies of
blooming and birth denied,
with thoughts she dared not think.

Still, reminiscences were not forbidden
her. In such she revelled,
marking the hours of Night with rising
decans beneath the seamless presence
of the shimmering Eternal.

The Voice, no more a shadow, spoke its
ageless bequest:
"Heed those who have seen, who see,
the last robin merge
with the last branch, for they tell of
a wholesome transformation
that needs not man's inconstant hands
nor his courage-less heart."

"They, who have heard, who hear,
a Fire cut the wind, the crimson faltering
of fledgling wings,
the music of infant feet stilled,
shedding tears of blood for Innocence
defiled, know of an airless Dark."

"A thousand Suns could not sate its
black thirst. Nay, it shall claim
Flow and Tides, till word, note, step and
gaze no more touch Mirror and Eye."

"Still, silver spheres of Hope and Peace
beckon in conjunction.
Earth bends to the shape of Silence,
Nature, to the Mystery of Being.
Shall you, mortal children, as your Mother,
unbar the Portals to Light?"

© 2016 Lily's Verse
Lilium candidum

Artist: Edgar Barclay

Saturday, 9 July 2016


Stone and spate marked my birth.
Still, I grew to know leaf
and butterfly, even as the ground
swallowed my feet.
Unfurling fronds of tenderest green
set free my paths,
feathering against Autumn's
variegated crystal mirror.
Scarlet aves streak across October's
changing parchment
as bleeding arrows, scrivening lost,
lightless hours, my pulse,
upon a breeze that shall not hear me.
Of earth I am not, nor of water,
nor of fire, nor of sky.
I am a child of the sleepless aether.
Blossoms of journeys past
slumber in the chill forest air;
a spark of trellis of Suns and Moons
awaits me in celestial spheres.
Father's Summer roses, 
dead Stars of coral and palest pink,
lie within the Mystic's soul,
layered between his memories
of joy and sorrow, 
of ascension and vanquishment.
In winged dreams I shall ride 
the updraught of his essence into a
distant memory,
into a moment of bright birth,
that I may find life amid my shadows.

© 2016 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Artist: René Magritte