from the wall

high upon ‘tis wall, she sat

mystified amidst mist

crowning the trees, yonder;

shalt tower all –

wilt ‘tis but a dismal night?

O, much too many to think

or dream,

yet none,

all at once, we see:

end of bloody bedrests! battle’s

finished, both victor and fiend

replenish their breaths for dance;

songbirds sprinkle dewdrops unto

flora; mothers prepare hearth

for the child returning on the morrow;

the baby mouse left in the lion’s care

while its father journeys in search

for winter fuel to share; phoenixes

leave their nests to bathe

in the clarity of the air

and the glimmer of the rainbow –

all seemed well.

“come hither” we hear salvation say,

but a day’s peace makes no

same validation for the next.

the child may not return

to his mother’s hearth;

the battle may wage on hereafter;

the lion may save the baby mouse for

winter’s survival –

ah, doth liberation exist

in, such, eternity? truly, what light through

yonder window breaks?

wilt that it shines

upon the morrow?

(we might only hope)

high upon ‘tis wall, she sat

in spirits, not as high as

the wings of mist among trees

yonder:

Algea, why do my eyes water so?



originally published: 25 Nov 2015

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