WordSong

Summer
Morning’s broken light:
And who was saved again
Last night?

‘Twas me, I think,
Although in pain
Of conscience, portal,
Heart, and brain —

We ran the mortal
Curtain down:
We sang our songs,
And made our toasts

With golden glasses
Lifted high
For these, our most
Beloved ghosts –

The taking in
That locks me out,
The taking on
That bids me leave

When only silence
Holds the truth
Of what it is to live
And grieve —

But summer
With its teeming voice
Of frog, fly, and
Cicada choir

Reminds me now:
I have a choice —
Between the dark
Or something

Higher

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

3 thoughts on “WordSong”

  1. Beautifully crafted…!… How one surrenders to such coincidences as my current mood is no less than you have portrayed here…… Thank you for sharing….!..

    Beautiful it is!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. And this is I can hum on repeat for the rest of my day…

      “But summer
      With its teeming voice
      Of frog, fly, and
      Cicada choir

      Reminds me now:
      I have a choice —
      Between the dark
      Or something

      Higher”

      Liked by 1 person

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