The Payment, Past
"Listen to the wind, it talks. Listen to the silence, it speaks. Listen to your heart, it knows." - Native American Proverb
~
He stood upon a mountain, attending to her heart,
For surely such a hallowed sound would be
Born soft upon the sunrise, and carried to impart
The thrum of truest love, brought achingly.
As he awaited, patient, his tympans yet unstirred,
A gloried sun arose like thunder, bright,
And deep within the dawning, the murmuring he heard
Was only Venus, bidding him goodnight.
He walked into the desert, the endless barren sands,
To hear her heart as voiced amidst the dunes ...
For surely on a zephyr, in tombs of kingdoms, grand,
Did sing the purest loves through vestal runes.
And as the dust regaled him in tales of deserts gone,
The bullion moon above him, dripping gold ...
A sound of steady thrumming, alas, was but the dawn,
Awakening the sand dunes from the cold.
He waded rippling meadows to find the forest, deep,
And listened for her heart to sing within ...
The sacred green cathedral, pristine enough to keep
Her drumming pulses dancing on the wind.
But in the wooded whisper that rode upon the boughs,
There came a secret it would thus betray ...
The measured heart-like beating it often would arouse,
Was Redwoods creaking in their dance and sway.
He crossed the broadest ocean to lay upon its shore,
In hopes her heart would carry on the tide ...
For surely such a mighty sea exacted that and more,
In all the strength that Neptune could abide.
And yet in all their majesty, the waves did not bestow
Upon him, songs so worth her heart's command ...
Their rhythm was just simply, the tidal ebb and flow -
The rhythmic swells, soft-combing thru the sand.
In time he wandered all the earth, 'cross every sea and hill,
So yearning for the beat of her true heart,
But all the songs that he engaged, in every sweetened trill,
Were vacant of the loves she could impart.
The countless songs that he had heard on travels that he'd led,
Despite them having taken such a toll,
Were indeed her beating heart - those things she'd never said,
But placed within the silence of his soul.
You see, she'd always loved him true, since ever just a lass,
And longed for all her days to be his mate ...
But in his searching, wide and far, too many years did pass,
And now, with his return, 'twas far too late.
Each circuit he'd made of the world, re-lived each yesterday,
And yet had passed, just half of all her years ...
Now he'd returned in middle-age to find her old and gray,
And naught she had to give him but her tears.
He cursed the horrid providence that thus had come to be,
The endless search, that now was proven wrong ...
And all the time he'd sacrificed, through chasing destiny,
Her love had waited homeward ... all along.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Strand Choice L, Any Theme Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Strand Select L Any Form Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
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