In night’s fall,
The stars rain down.
The moon opens the sky
As if
It’s door slammed shut
One millennia, past.
It is only then
God speaks to me.
He does not speak of the petty.
He does not speak of daily troubles we cause ourselves.
He speaks of love and fortune.
He speaks of dreams wafting over us,
Like waves finding their shore in summer’s darkness.
Quietly,
Scantily wrapped in life’s essence.
A voice commanding,
Understanding.
Kind…
Yet without mind.
Winds carry his words
On the wings of the peregrine;
Racing constellations:
Prophets in flight.
Life without sight,
Is the key
To see.
And when he is done speaking?
All that is left is my heartbeat.
Top Bigstock photo by KajaNi





