Echo of the Fires

Like the echo of the fires
As still roar below the sea
I am forging shores—
A silhouette of beauty to be.

Like a lone thorn in a garden—
Like a voice without a mind
Far flung amid the arctic stars—
—I rehearse my epitaph—
And you stop the screams...
When I draw my breath
Your lullabies speak of all the dreams
That cannot be found in death.

Like hypnosis in a dream
I am facing strange realities.
Many worlds I see
As though they were a memory.

No touch save for thine
Can teach my poor soul to define
The Thrones I swore stood only on high—
The jewels that sing to the earth and to the sky...

And like a voice without a mind
I lead myself, though I be blind—
I rehearse my epitaph,
And you stop the screams...
When I draw such a breath
Your lullabies speak of dreams
I could not find within my death.

© 2018 Marten Hoyle