Above the vaulted sky
We whisper prayers
in the unknown silence,
hold hands in empty space,
try to make sense
of the mystery of life.
I linger in the uncertainty
of what lies beneath
the shadows of the night.
The moment passes
like a breath of wind
soars through empty spaces,
once filled with laughter and warmth.
Our hearts whisper
tenderly in the stillness,
we remember the joys of past days,
our lips remain sealed.
We find solace in the beauty
of what remains - a single moment,
etched in time, cherished by rhyme.
as we sit in solemn stillness,
listen to the distant whisper
of forgotten voices
The air is thick with the secrets
of our fleeting existence
how best to live
in the quiet of the night
we honour the moments that fly by,
the beauty of life and all its dark complexities,
made simple by love, love, love.
John Marks
Sun 23rd Apr 2023 02:13
Hello thank you K Lynn & Stephen G. Clare I told you a long time ago that you are a true poet and everything that I read of yours confirms me in that belief. You must write for yourself, selfishly, and, if you do, I think that you can far surpass my achievements. I hope that you write for the rest of your life.
"Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, further westwards, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling too upon every part of the lonely churchyard where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead."
James Aloysius Joyce, The Dead, Dubliners