VOICE

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.

Yet, 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

Image: GIRL BY A WOODLAND STREAM

Source: www.pinterest.com

Artist: Edgar Barclay