Thoughts From a Poet ~

 

{First Note:}

I don’t know what it is, or what causes it . . . but at night, my inspiration seems to come alive. There is something beautiful about that one, unique moment in which it comes, like a gem shining in the darkness that comes unannounced in the night. It causes me to turn the lights off . . . it is completely unfathomable and undefined. It is an ethereal spirit that lights a spark in me in the dark. It is one that I cannot describe but one as precious as the light, comforting, indescribable spirit of an angel. It is the soul and heart of life.

Complete- poem of the Irish inspiration

~ Complete ~

 

A/N: Why do I write pieces that milk my tears?

I can’t explain it . . .

What will forever be to us, at the end of our exhausting travel?

 

 

~ ~ ~

Myriad of precious,

Gold-flecked nightingales,

Swarmed throughout the night,

As they pressed upon the sky-

In shaded, ethereal white.

 

A pretty rose he gave her,

And pressed into her,

Soft, white hands for it,

Was soulful Night, for humans.

 

A child walked below me,

 To meet the end of-

 A slow exhausting journey . . .

 

A maiden’s eyes slid closed,

In eternal peace to fall,

Over a gravitas land,

Shedding its warmth through her,

And the luminous stroke,

Of the moonlight’s gleam,

Lent over her a faint torch-

 

A child who had once,

Pressed the milky wedge-

Of the gleaming moon,

To play personal piano,

Which the rest of us,

Could only be looked upon-

 

And a subdued owl . . .

Hooted gently to the sounds,

Of the melodious moon-

Whose silent peace immersed us.

 

A bright star shone beside it,

Granting us with its,

Soft, milky light,

Sending a divine message.

 

 

No one was able to see or hear,

The sounds of imminent summons near us . . .

 

As they occurred I alone,

Could hear the troubled changes,

Understood Night’s pain-

 

Night itself wept softly,

Over the shadowed souls that,

Lay now in pasture sleeping,

Where babies shifted within their,

Solid, warm cocoon, unknowing . . .  

 

 Unable to stand such pain,

 I then placed my,

Hands upon one, lone child,

Who sat before me sleeping,

And closed her heavy eyelids,

Waiting into long silence-

For what would soon befall us.

 

I looked into her blue eyes,

And in that moment made a choice-

I finally formed the words,

Of the age-old song that lived,

In my eroded breast while I still,

Had the time to do so . . .

,

‘So the years went by,

The fields lay cold with frost,

Soon it came to pass,

The king rode towards his home.

 

The dusty horse he rode on,

Towards the mountain grandeur,

Was stately gliding over,

The trembling pass.

 

So then the sunset closed then,

And I sought to light a flame,

Of a slowly dying candle,

Before I knew that He’d come-

Home to finally beckon me,

To my eternity.

 

Light the candle darling,

When the night is still,

And the king rides on towards Heaven,

Close your eyes my child,

For tomorrow the time is ours,

To hold forever . . .’

 

The child gazed upon me,

And began to whisper softly,

The repeated song to me,

In low, timorous tones.

 

And as I listened,

The moon lit up the sky while,

A clock now seemed to tick,

As birds hid in their branches,

And then at the last-

We finally lay down to rest.

 

Yet when I awoke anon again,

Silver ribbons cast rays,

Of light about the sky- before I,

Knew the reason for this change,

I was swept into its glowing rise-

Of the ethereal, morning light,

And before I could seek the child,

That I’d taken unto my breast,

I began floating . . .

 

Into my forever ~

 

 

 

~ Dedicated to my grandmother: although she has aged . . . she is nonetheless beautiful . . .