It is not without recourse that the soul cries in the night.  It is not with abandon that the individual who mourns whatever loss, be it of his innocence or that of a physical parting, is left.  We know and are known, and never is there a thought which rises from the physical brain and immortal mind, that is not noted.  It is these hard times that call our heart’s yearning.

My Song Goes Out. . .

My song goes out on this morning’s air
and penetrates the sky to where the stars
hang in the universe.  My lyrics ride the beams
that will meet the sun as it rises and
hang in the midday until even the grass hears
the melody or the mourning.

Look who is here, who is here, they say,
she speaks to us and we hear, we hear.
And I will say, it is a good place, this Earth home.
And I learn to speak its language and to learn
to sing its songs.  It is this space
where my sounds break out into form
and I see, oh yes, I see.   And I knew it all the time.

So listen to me, dear Earth and sea and sky.
I speak your language, your sound and hear your music.
And it is all for me, for me.  The tension
in my body is the lyre on which you play your music.
The mind is my opening onto worlds that I know
exist and can feel through the thoughts
winging sometimes painfully against my ears.

Listen to me, they say, and hear, hear, really hear.
I have songs to sing and lyrics which spell out
your beginning which never was and ending
which cannot be.  So listen and I will long
to seize you and carry you and tell you
of a richness that is yours since you were a star.

Laylo, laylo, sum virat honor.  I liken you
to the eddy which flows in my direction.
Laylo, laylo,  sum virat honor.  We honor truth.

photo by
Joshua D. Hallissey