Nightsong

Do the stars sing? I swear that on winter evenings, calm and clear, a crystal whisper echoes in my ear and I can hear the song of the stars across the barren blackness. Angel voices have been heard from the midnight skies by many who search the heavens for wisdom, or insight, or just reassurance that in all that expanse of shadow and stardust, their tiny flame burns brightly enough to be noticed and treasured.

I have tried to reach out with my spirit, aflame with the need to touch the abyss and know it is not empty, and to hear the nightsong once again — the crystal chorus that ties me to the burning giant, tiny specks of light, twinkling in the night...

Mick

Nightsong

The cry my heart screams, roars in silent tears —
A sigh of fire for scores of silent years.
My thoughts explode, a stabbing brilliant light,
A nova bright, unnoticed in the night.
None come near me, for they can sense the beat
Of heart-fired bellows, generating heat
That thousand suns, in universal fear
Of death of light, can't bring the nightsong near
To where I stand. And silently, I cry —
For upturned eyes search countless halls of sky,
To find the meaning, find the whispered song,
And, in the dark, my heart can sing along.

I seek the nightsong, the music of the air;
The Muse's voice upon the wind up there.
An ancient music — echoes in the mind,
An ageless music lovers sometimes find,
When in the arms of soft and shadowed night,
They dance the dream of their pure love's delight.
And, on occasion, writ in star-lit skies,
The dream appears before the poet's eyes.
But, not tonight — I shall not get my chance,
To race the light and dance the dreamer's dance.
I burn too brightly, seething with the flame
That seeks the nightsong, calls its ancient name...

Perhaps tomorrow's nightly dew and damp,
Will quench my fire and shade my fiery lamp,
And far from TV, game shows, cars and bars —
I'll hear the nightsong music of the stars!


Mick McKellar
August 2009