Here the weary rest upon the shore to
admire this mountain lake, a mirror struck
by dusk. Now watch how water turns from friend
to foe, at night it mimics chasms deep
and wide in absence of the heavens’ light.
Shadows come to haunt the mind and wake the million
voices buried far beneath our consciousness.
You stray from dreams to lie awake and wait
for the patient plea; the void is calling
you home. I know I cannot keep you
from heeding the insistent pull, my friend,
so powerful the draw of Death’s own flute.
Take solace in the knowledge that, I hear it too.
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 2:06 AM UTC
Here the weary rest upon the shore to
admire this mountain lake, a mirror struck
by dusk. Now watch how water turns from friend
to foe, at night it mimics chasms deep
and wide in absence of the heavens’ light.
Shadows come to haunt the mind and wake the million
voices buried far beneath our consciousness.
You stray from dreams to lie awake and wait
for the patient plea; the void is calling
you home. I know I cannot keep you
from heeding the insistent pull, my friend,
so powerful the draw of Death’s own flute.
Take solace in the knowledge that, I hear it too.
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