these words will not wait til i am gone

As befits the days and nights leading up to Winter Solstice
(not to mention the approaching Full Moon and Lunar Eclipse),
I have turned inward to explore new directions my creativity may take
as the new year draws near. Clarity seemed elusive — until
this piece of poetry made itself heard and my Aha! moment surfaced.
I’m excited to see what will take shape, and will share more as appropriate.

these words will not wait til i am gone,
fate springs to their side
lifts them off twigged perches
nudges them from gargoyled sills
for the love of god, they whisper,
can we not fly now on the nascent breeze?

these words are not mine
they have destinies far greater than i alone can offer,
their universe lies not within me
yet beyond all manner of a limited life,
they have been born for their own becoming
and clung to my bosom they cannot remain.

these words carry the power to carve canyons out of stone
fashion armies of tender hearts from blades of serrated steel,
in their presence the molten melts,
walls tumble a-rustle,
what is a pen stroke in the face of creation
but creation’s very voice found a temporary roost?

these words i travel with,
i am but a porter while they apportion truth for the hungry
i await in the wings while they glisten in the moonlight
center stage is their domain
i, a carrier oil for the essential anointings they advance,
my humility their exaltation, my mouth their lute.

these words, they beswarm me,
plant sweet kisses round my neck and whisper,
always they whisper their unceasing invitation,
they outstretch themselves in my direction
and fall as virgin snow upon me

these words will not wait til I am gone.