Wednesday, September 2, 2015

Wings of Morphia

I was fostered in the pale-blue sky,
Flew as gulls fly over stormy seas,
And at length, by lightning broken,
My spirit wandered among the shades,
Borne away to demesnes ephemeral,
On the wings of Mercy and of Morphia.

And so in twilight, called by Death,
Who, presuming on our old acquaintance,
Beaconed me toward a glimmering shore,
Lying far out on the boundary of being,
She came to me, not as a fearful specter
But as the keeper of the gates of home.

Brent Hightower
Copyright 2015 Brent Hightower

*Image public domain