They come to the Garden
One by one.
With a gentle lion by my side, and a
Brilliantly colored peacock strutting
Close behind me
I meet them each night beneath
The beaming smile of sister moon.
I shake the stardust from my hair;
I am the creature that absorbs all light;
I greet them as a man, though I might easily
Descend from the currents, gently coming
Down, a creature on the wing.
They come to me mute, tongues silenced,
And I see the desperation in their eyes.
They come to me because they have
No words.
Far below the surface of this world, at
Its hollow core, Chronos keeps watch
on his giant clock.
He strokes his long white beard, and
Sips the steaming contents from his
Jewel- bedecked goblet, the clock resounding
with every tick and tock and the inhabitants
Of this lost city let it rule them with its
Rigid demands.
The clock tells them when it is time
Time to sleep and when it is time to rise.
It tells them when to eat and when to make love.
It even tells them when it is time to die.
And should one try to break free of the bond
And the weight that keeps them enslaved
Their heartbeat, loudly beating its own time,
Would be silenced by the others who fear
Its heresy might lend itself to chaos and
Threaten their order; or incite the old god's
Wrath.
In all that dark and stifling world there
Is only one place outside of Chronos' reach.
It is my realm; a place untouched by solid
Things, existing only in a thought, a wish,
Or a dream.
It is a Garden where we, the First dwelt,
Naked and innocent before death appeared
To stake its claim.
And I, a descendent of that primordial couple,
Am a creature of infinite faces and unknowable
Names; and each night they come to see me,
Bringing Gifts, simple things made by grateful
And earnest hands.
In return I give them a word, a word never
Known to any in their world.
This word comes to them like a whisper, and
Grows in their minds like the fruit of
A Timeless Tree.
I am the one that pulls words out of that dark
Place; I am full of words, the last of my kind,
A race that had made our Kingdom out
Among the far stars.
My kind were the keeper of words and in our
Minds were kept the history of worlds
Both ancient and new.
The lion purrs, yawns and stretches. And
The peacock spreads its plumage like
A dark and shining rainbow.
And I bestow on them the Gift.

Words.
So filled with power.
Of magic.
Coming up and out
Of the Mystery.
Naming things.
Rooted in the
Glowing mists of dream.
Priceless, a great and shining
Gift: words.