The Hail

By Cliff Lake

The Hail

 

Something calls.

Not a whisper, no,

More vague than that,

More insistent,

More seductive.

It tantalizes.

A sliver of lurid hues,

Echoing uncanny themes,

Misheard or once forgotten.

Voices escape sighing,

Their language less than familiar,

More than foreign.

A beckoning,

Neither approaching,

Nor refusing to leave,

A crystalline fragment

All too clear

Yet too obscure.

What happy madness this?

What waking trance?

Here it slips,

Parading visions of another where,

Another when,

Another then.

A chimera and a reality

Stolen once,

Forgotten always.

A delirium,

Or a lucidity abandoned?

A summoning to the alter-life,

Unanswered,

It fades.

What have you let go?

What can you let go?

Why don’t you let go?

 

Something calls…

 

Cliff Lake 6/6/2023

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

Location: Dalton, MA, USA

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