Ancient Music

dark gray skies,

blocking out the morning sun,

signs of things to come;

ancient music,

playing in my ears,

returning us to the world

from which we came,

let us take that,

which is ours to take;

together;

let not, winter’s cold breath,

steal tomorrow’s freshness

away from our grasp,

left out here to slowly

wither and die,

like newborn children upon

the vine;

is this then,

all there is?

is this then,

all which can

be expected?

hidden among the

darkening shadows,

alone and empty,

cold and hungry,

with no light

from within

.

.