I don’t know which one spoke.
I have my suspicions.
I was lighting candles,
thinking of angelic voices
born in blood and pain
when clear as a bell I heard:
‘You have progeny;
we have immortality.’
And part of my heart broke
exploding in the sweetness of music
that wrenched its stony casing open.
I thought of Achilles
gifting Hektor with immortality
and of Patrokles
and how those heroes have nothing
on the bitchy, sarcastic angels
who now haunt my every breath.
I have no voice to sing
but I praise them still
I long for that sound
as they swarm around me.
I long for their voices
cold and clear
and oh so very pure.
I sit shivering,
having exhausted hands and breath
in the new art they have me following:
baroque music and alto recorders
and flutes and things
that make my hands ache
and my chest pant as I gasp for breath
I’ll learn just a whispering shadow
of what they did: to control the breath
for music, for sound, for the promise of more.
I’ll learn and they will hold me to it–
hold me in that seat until my hands cramp
and I beg for release from the sessions of practice…
All for the music and for them,
that one day it won’t just be whispers anymore that I hear
but their song.
Only in the sound of those who inherited your music
men who sing with the faintest echo of your sweetness,
do the jagged pieces of my mind and soul
resolve into a single brilliant note.
Only then am I whole.
Then I hear my Gods without impediment.
Lineage, longing, and sacrifice,
maybe that is why I ache for you.
It is from these things you were formed.
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Wyrd Curiosities at Etsy
My academia.edu page
My amazon author page.
Walking the Worlds Journal
My art blog at Krasskova Creations
My blog about all things strange, weird and medieval.
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