My Cue

A dark. unfathomed emptiness swirls and coalesces on the stage of my desire, demanding nothing sired of need or advocate, and of itself complete. Yet I may own the unexpected certainty and find that it is known without a thought, through just shy glances as one moves inside the self. It is an unpretentious wisdom, free to fly upon the cliff winds, turning toward the sea again, above the crumbling decades with their votive candles burning still, above the shouts of triumph just beyond the tomb, and yes, more sacred in its wordless legacy than that enscrolled from any prophet pen. At length, It was the little man inside the prompter's box who shook his head, and said to watch your little universe go by for still another dallying spring. It isn't yet the denouement, not yet your time to sing. ~