.
The air is statue still,
          dust particles hang immobile,
levitate in arrested motion,
     causing gravity to frown.

A single ray of silver light,
          a gift from the Lady above,
as she turns her face full
     and bathes the night gently.

Seeking through dark places,
          the magick beam catches tears,
in a cradle of light comfort,
     touching a lullaby in a whisper.

Alighting softly in a calm arrival,
          upon eyelids of eternal sorrow,
and heals the ragged scars of pain
     with the mystery of the stars.



© Pagan Paul (05/05/18)