Ardent tones, the glow that emerges from the snap of rough hair in flight,
intervals augmented by unquenched desire
incite my ears to memory.
You broach our universal passion that is
pegged to an omniscient poignancy
and tempered in the pitch of somber ash.
The pulses rain and billow, then repose.
What is the fermata that hangs over this long rest?
I know you will raise your bow again
to ascend the staves fronting the armory of stanzas
and liberate for us once again the cadences of the ages.
This poem was published by The RavensPerchon October 31, 2022.
October 21, 2017