Edouard Vulliard

The stillness of deep black
space void of sound save my
own heartbeat.
Such a dark and vacuous ocean
waiting for one
piercing ray of light
permeating from some distant star
long dead.
Patient for my choreographed
dream sequence where
soul separates from
temporal vessel and
seeks eternity while
waiting for time
to cease at exactly
the point where expanding meets
contracting – or the apogee
of a ball thrown straight up
in sweet times of
carefree and childlike clamor.
But time has become exhausted
from endless trips around
a face of segments aware that
all is not lost.
Without time.
For the darkened veil rents
revealing gilded paths embedded with
sapphires and rubies.
Wisps of lavender breeze
and a warmth that emanates
from a love-laden heart
inside the breast of a King
who without a sound whispers
afterlife into a dream
-a memory-
but He bids farewell, for now.
And morning comes with
lark and mist
and pleasant dew
upon yawning saplings
and the hopeful greatness and
eagerness to face a new day
with morning’s sweet
melody waking me from deep slumber
to a new time I shall surely remember.

(c) 2015 rick stassi