Whispers and Murmurs

At the first of morning, before work begins,

me and Emily Jane walk in the dim, damp mist.

The second growth forest, the call of singing birds,

the dark, dark ink of the cross on her pale wrist.

We say nothing, their is only the cool and quiet.

A little creek runs beneath us, reminds me of childhood.

A still, quiet voices whispers in the air, and I can almost

feel close to The Spirit in her, that I’ve scarcely ever understood.

She turns to me, takes me hands into her own, and bows her head

and in murmurs and whispers she prays over us, this new day.

I bow my head, and feel at peace, before the war begins again,

I wish I was always with her in these moments, that innocence could stay.

Talent and Communion

I hear her, Natasha, playing the piano, singing low, writing a song.

               I sit in my study, pausing from the page, listening to her, high, sweet.

               I’m trying to put her on the page, story about a boy and a girl in love,

               And the strange world they find in the forest that was a childhood Eden.

 

               All day we work at our different talents, our different worlds and dreams.

               I smile and return to typing, the boy and girl having met an angel who has

               Put down his flaming sword and allowed them into the world of wonders,

               Where for the briefest of moments they will be pure light and absolutely free.

 

               At the end of the day, as night falls, we’ll eat dinner and talk about our worlds,

               The places we go that are only ours, and piecing them together as we can,

               To show the world, to strum their night to see if any have ears that can hear,

               Hear our dreams and loss, and seem themselves in our most secret, sacred light.