The Anteroom

Written by: Beverly Briatico

How small I have become
to linger too long in territory 
I can not withstand 

Tiny whispers spread 
like an eagle's fan 
across mounting skies that ignite  
beckon calls to retreat
to more familiar land

I've crossed these roads 
All too familiar now 
but willfully still
To step aside and allow 
you to take the upper hand.

The starlight lays its golden egg
tucked deep in distant clouds 
to stake a pilgrim's claim  

The raven black rescinds 
To higher ground still
to amend the passing of two worlds
dusk versus dawn 
Which will prevail