…wild and strangely beautiful

The sound of bells
echoes across
the dark fields of night
I hear a door
slowly closing
in the distance
that harsh sound
followed
by the sharp click
of finality

grief, wild
and strangely beautiful
circles me
like a storm
loss falls on soft wings
incongruous
with the reality
the reality of the pain
the pain
that radiates
from deep within

the solace of release
is momentary
replaced
by the dark void
shadows shift
in shafts of moonlight
dramatically silent
veils upon veils
falling frail
fragile moments
of peace

the lake
mirror still
reflecting
the souls of the dead
their faces pale
cold as ash
shimmering
in the soft light
but their voices soar
upon the gentle waves
of night winds

each refrain
blooming
in the ebony fields
of sorrow
wild are the flowers
of remembrance
their petals of pain
filling the dawning
with the sweet fragrance
of memories
and the softly
glowing
embers
of hope
© Ann Bagnall