You who long for change, what are you seeking?
Never doubt the power of the night.
Obscure though colors be, your senses heighten.
Gift years slow tumbling with inner light.
Time’s hush. Time’s stretch. Time’s song.
Trust in the birds, to fresh skies yonder winging.
Listen for the beetles scurrying low.
Prick your ears for wind, and rain—what’s coming?
As you light the gentle fire to boil your tea.
Time’s hush. Time’s stretch. Time’s song.
All is ordinary here, and all distinctive.
Every moment’s breath, now seen anew.
Your life, never mundane, is ever sacred.
What you do, and think, and feel, weighs consequent.
Time’s hush. Time’s stretch. Time’s song.
If you do choose, this present now unfolding
Allow your heart to lift and strike a note.
The rhythm of your pulse echoes the spinning
Of every star, each planet…
Claim your crown.
T. Thorn Coyle
October 2010/April 2023
This poem was made possible by the generosity of my Patreon supporters.
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