Terry McArthur | Blog 26 | 6.8.2022
He came like an ancient prophecy
sparked by the howling of the seasons.
Those who pursued him knew nothing of his arts
They did not see him sewn into the four winds
They did not hear him no matter how loud he sang.
In this time of virus and plague true hunger bares its teeth.
A fierce breaking, a shaking and a flailing
A swooning and a sweating, a cruel fever falling
All about the wailing, all about the keening songs of lamentation.
He sang in the darkness, he called in the light.
He plucked stars from the sky, placing them one by one
in the constellation of his heart.
Once more dreaming himself into the singing of his soul.
The noise and calamities of this world subsumed by
the self-struck sound of perfect silence.
Listen...
Every heart turned to hear him carries the origin of silence
within the beating of their own.
© The Origin of Silence | Terry McArthur | Blue Pearl Music.
© Painting | Ley Lines v | Deborah Young| Oil On Linen
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