The Doves

“The Doves”

It seems we’ve reached the end of our disease
To see blue skies and feel a summer breeze.
(I wonder)
But I see the doves have flown away,
And the skies begin to decay
The way we still recall—
Do we prefer to watch them fall?

We’ve reached the edge of the thunder.
And still, we gaze in wonder
At the doves who gather in their wings
The rains of future springs.
What do they know of where we have been?
Is there any Heaven they have not seen?
When the hours dry, where shall they climb?
As the sky falls, what will they know of time?

I see not their flight, so beautiful.
I see only what is left of my soul,
And your soul beside my own…
Their wings have flown…
They once sang outside my window
Alas they now are but an echo
Of morning when the sky was whole.
My heart! It was this heart they could console
With their little songs in the poison tree,
Their voices of beauty.

We have reached the end of our disease.
There is silence in the trees—
Though I think I hear a voice in the leaves…
(I wonder)
Is it your voice from out of a summer that was,
When the doves would sing to us?
Is it a dream that falls upon my gaze
As the clouds part to free the rays,
As the flowers wither and bloom and blush?
I want it to be true—I want it so much.
But you are not here to stay, save in memory
Like the doves whose ghosts sing to me
Even now as the sun darkens upon the day—
And the skies decay.

© 2022 Marten Hoyle