What music is pain
when it sings to the night
summoning an unknown
hero
behind walls of sable
and windows of
fire?
Any voice would
be a holy visitation,
but yours would
be Life.
Under the broken shell
of the moon I would
find deliverance
in each thread of
antique light.
But I'd rather your face
finally fade into
into infinity;
the north star sinking
into the boundless
dust and when
you are at last the
scattered powder
breathing darkness,
I will know the name
of freedom.
Forgetting will no
longer be a battle
between my heart and
Hell's legions,
And I will sing like
the captive bird
and fly in my dreams.
Patricia Joan Jones
To read more of my work go to: My Poetry List