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
Image: NIGHT IN THE FOREST
Artist: William Louis Sonntag