The Anteroom
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
Copyright © Beverly Briatico | Year Posted 2006
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