Hubble telescope; Pillars of Creation in the Eagle Nebula.
The celestial wind is whispering tonight,
a voyager from the beginning of time,
dusty ancient castaway breath of the stars.
Where have you been, what have you seen,
did you skirt the Pillars of Creation,
did you watch the birth of new stars,
did you teach the planets a song to sing?
The sky is your concert hall, your ballroom
Is it you that makes the heavenly lights twinkle.
There the bright pinpoints beckon, toying,
challenging creatures to ride your zephyr,
feeling the breeze of your alluvium is kindred,
and, I wonder if what you are, am I also?
“It is time,” softly spoken the words awoken
the heart that was clasped in stone,
grains of time wilted, on dry stalks stilted,
blossomed from the dark fertile loam,
the air unscented became heavenly minted
with love flowered honeysuckle cologne,
midnight gloom banished from the ancient room
as cast, Avalon’s brilliant rainbow shone,
arising in the midst of a cascading mist
the Flower of Life reclined on a golden throne,
thus having awakened the dreamers were taken
back to their far off lost celestial home,
all humankind wondered as heavens thundered
“It is done,” leaving their souls lost and alone.
Lying on my back
I am looking up through a skylight,
its cracked panes trace paths
between the stars and planets.
The music of the night
twinkling notes on the tapestry
of infinity, creations fabric.
Filled with its glorious melody
the voyage beyond this place
is a rhapsody of movement,
a joyous trip into the unknown,
an anticipation of being,
of becoming part of the night sky,
coursing at the speed of light
that realm where gods and comets,
tug at the blanket of time.