…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