Silver Light

 

 

 

 

 

Silver Light

I stand, exposed, upon a precipice,

Extend my hand to catch a falling star.

I miss the star and fall in an abyss,

But soon I realize something’s amiss,

For time has stopped, and I've not fallen far.

I start to scream, but see a smiling face,

A face at peace and infinitely kind,

A face aglow with welcome and with grace,

That my hot, stinging tears may soon efface.

Panicked, I reach and our hands are entwined.

And as I start to slip from consciousness,

Through velvet fog His voice touches my ears.

A voice whose beauty words cannot express,

Sings to calm all my fears and my distress,

Takes away my terror, and dries my tears.

I think of His face when I am alone,

And facing darkest terrors in the night;

Ponder the argent light with which He shone,

Reflect upon the kindness I was shown,

And sleep, cradled in arms of silver light.

Mick McKellar

July 2014

I have discovered that I may find help, even in my dreams.

Mick

False Fire

 

 

 

 

 

False Fire

A hint of shadow cast upon the walls,

Tells a tale of secrets carried alone,

Endlessly through dim and empty halls,

Of memory, not of mortar and stone,

But of life and passion, room by room.

A living mansion where a life may hide,

Where darkness dwells in galleries of gloom,

And untold and hidden stories reside.

I wander the vast palace in my mind.

My footfalls echo through hall, stair, and spire,

Unsure what I seek or what I may find,

Each step illuminated by foxfire.

Yet, I press on through the flickering night,

False fire in search of a haven of light.

Mick McKellar

June 2014

The path of memory can be as dark as midnight in the deep wood. Yet, the cold candle of certain fungi on decaying wood, often referred to as foxfire, can seem bright indeed. Perhaps decaying memories have their own foxfire.

Mick

Shining

 

 

 

 

 

Shining

Fears lurk in the dark corners of my life;

I hear them softly breathing in the night.

The terrors I sense feel sharp as a knife,

Stabbing from shadows before I can fight.

And yet, I do not have to be afraid,

Of darkling shades in the mists of twilight.

Though gloom may leave the faint of heart dismayed,

Stygian shadows flee from faintest light.

Nor can they reach beyond the inky shade;

Fearful themselves of penetrating sight,

Which lays bare the void of which fears are made,

And fills their emptiness with deft insight.

Illumination has a simple start:

The light that shines from deep within my heart.

Mick McKellar

June 2014

Fear flees from the light, keep your batteries charged.

Mick

One Wee Tear

 

 

 

 

One Wee Tear

Dazzling white flowers, gold-stained by the sun,

Embrace the cool morning breeze with aplomb,

And to acknowledge the day has begun,

Dance and sway gaily as bumblebees hum.

Birds sing along with the song of the bees,

Sweet counterpoint in the cool morning hush.

Wind whispers soft lyrics through the pine trees,

Tales of its journey in rustle and rush.

The rattling leaves of maple and oak,

Dapple the sunlight that reaches the ground.

Simple and solemn, these muses evoke

Daydreams of symphonies, pure sight and sound.

Lingering softly on eye and on ear,

The morning music enchants one wee tear.

Mick McKellar

June 2014

Sometimes, there’s magic to be found just by stepping out on your deck on a summer morning.

Mick

Poe It, Nevermore

 

 

 

 

Poe It, Nevermore

I sit and write,

Till late at night,

To quell persistent fears,

I’ll not be there,

To fully share,

The thoughts between my ears.

I know full well,

It’s hard to tell

The source, but even worse;

Try to explain,

Why my old brain,

Erupts in rhyming verse.

I can’t restrain,

The speeding train,

Of a relentless mind.

I can but ask,

It do its task,

And finally unwind.

Because I sit,

And write, to wit,

Complete my nightly chore;

Poe might have said,

When off to bed:

“For tonight — Nevermore.”

Mick McKellar

June 2014

I know it’s late, I just can’t help myself — I have to get it out of my head, or lose it.

Mick

Flame Solitaire

 

 

 

 

Flame Solitaire

Angels dance ‘round to the glad sound,

Of your sweet voice on the air,

And remember the bright ember,

Of your love's flame, solitaire:

The bright birthright of the dawn’s light,

That no shadow may forswear.

None may erase what I embrace,

As my heart becomes aware,

Of our sojourn, and the slow burn,

When our passion, dazzling, rare,

Shares ignition and fruition,

Evermore and ev’rywhere.

Mick McKellar

June 2014

When true love kindles, the angels dance.

Mick

Crimson Dreams

Crimson Dreams

I walk beyond the moon to touch the stars,

In waking dreams beneath a blood-red sun.

Sleek, silver ocean waves, on soft sand bars,

Break silently, though my heart feels each one.

Magenta clouds dash through deep purple skies,

On winds that whisper questions to themselves;

To which the burnished, argent sea replies,

By dashing silver arms on ancient shelves.

Then, shining through a ruby red twilight,

I see glistening mists of silver rain,

Adrift upon the ghost wind, all alight

With tiny crimson flames from Hell’s domain.

I cast myself aloft, expecting pain;

I wake at dawn, alive, and home again.

Mick McKellar

June 2014

Sometimes, I dream in technicolor, cinemascope, and 3D. I don’t know what they mean, but the images haunt my life, my waking dream.

Mick