Baran’s Song

And there was in the Imbolc air
The sure and certain sound of Heaven
Clear crisp and bright
Starting with tiny harps
The faintest zephyr of a sound
Gentle echoes
silvered motes rotating in the sun
Always just out of reach
Coming from every thing
Everything living and dead
And I realized that it is always there
If we have the courage to stop
To listen
Then came voices
Deep and rich
High and sweet
Voices that transcended
all pain and sorrow
Crescendos of voice
Crashing on and all around me
Weaving back and forth
to and fro
Ebbing only to flow
Then there was a light within the sound
And . . .That is all I remember

There is a thunder in the world
a thundering heart
But under the sound
of my every breath
There lies a silent conviction
That the World is somehow broken
and there is nothing I can do
to fix it

And yet my children hug me
students thank me
friends speak with me
I have come to see
all manner of beauty in the World
in the sun, the clouds and wind and sea
grasses and leaves
and . . .

So is it possible
that this is the way
it is meant to be

I am not wise enough to know

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

2 thoughts on “Baran’s Song”

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