The Whispers of the Night

Have you heard the whispers of the night,
Those dancing murmurs of delight?
That possess you to let go
Of acting in The People Show?
That rise to surface that forgotten state,
When neither you, nor them, had mapped your fate?

They tell of sunken dreams that you have buried,
When infant Time had not yet hurried,
To chase, or dare to catch you on the run.
They tell of midnight riches, nestled in the sun,
Long before the boulder that you bore,
Mistaking every pebble for the shore.
They tell of ancient rites beyond the pane,
Where the wildcats roam, and lizards chant insane,

They wonder if you’ve peered behind the veil,
Where thunder strikes to freedom’s hail,
Where wrong is right, where all is naught,
Where unbound chaos mocks your thought,
They wish for you to see, this splendid sight with hollow eyes,
As a looking glass held to the light, by an empty being in disguise.

You surf the sound of their feverish play,
Screeching as their voices fade away,
Though celestial wails end their satanic dance,
A wave of exultation begs for one last chance,
To forever make you stay,
Beyond the realm of night or day,
To awaken you from your slumber,
With a lash of new-born thunder,
To a naked world,
Uncurled beneath a starlit sky.
There’s no sweeter time than this to die,
When past divisions bid themselves goodbye,
And willows whisper to the wind,
That all is well behind the end.