Hope

abstract-art


Piercing the darkness with his swirling sword,

ha awoke a glimmer of Hope.

Together with Yearning inside, remembered the

melody of a time when Time stood still.

 

Ancient Chorus,

an eternal aria,

Choir of Angels,

the greatest Opera:

Hear the Harp —

as it plucks,

and it strums, strums, strums

in a lyrical delight.

Keeping time, time, time,

In a sort of Runic rhyme.¹

Hear the Chimes —

as they ring, ring, ring,

announcing the spring

in a glory of the night,

in a holy, choral glory of the night.

Hear the Glockenspiel —

it thrills in a tinkle,

as it twinkles the sparks,

sparks, sparks, sparks,

as it tinkles and it twinkles

in the enlightened, shining beauty of the dark.

Hear the Bassoon —

glorious in tune,

that gentle, vocal monsoon,

as it moans, moans, moans

in a guttural, orotund groan,

calling upon the white, laden Moon,

and a Star… star, star, star…

Penetrating the atmosphere with sound —

that harmonious , profound orchestra —

on the bottom of the down,

down, down, down.

Keeping time, time, time,

In a sort of Runic rhyme.

Everlasting in the sky:

a Song of Winds,

the Melody carried

on celestial Wings…

 

… enveloping the fury,

taking over the Steed,

and He felt the Love of One

as the horn broke and fell,

his colors faded with the wind,

he shrunk and swayed. Standing still —

back on the undulating pastures — a Horse

with no wings, among many others.

Loving and calm.

Grazing the fragrant grass,

listening for a river in the distance.

 


¹Remembering the Greats: Edgar Allan Poe, The Bells.

 

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