Nature's Place

A Silver Song


Born of the blackness cold, my love.

To colour the light I am. In line and form a ringing.

Afire, in thirst, of experience. The mad singing.

Where change rakes the dead embers of mind.

Pain, old friend. What else.

To buff the point of being I am, a sharpness mirrored round.

Pierce the veil of shadows. That I am found.

Emerge, o silver singer. To do it all once more.

When all I want is Thee my love.

Return, awake, to the shore.

Of death, the boon of Thine.

Come take me home at last, my lord.

Oh. Cold blackness mine.

© Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

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