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KENNETH N COOK

SONGSOPTOK THE WRITERS BLOG | 2/10/2015 |




VOICES

A voice is calling to me
like a flaming flute,
melting the ice
of the ancient glaciers
and turning to fire
the frigid winter air.
My ears tremble
from that chilling sound
as my eyes flare and weep
hot drops of crimson.
A voice is calling my name
like the haunting howl
of a dying wolf,
echoing through the night sky
and rippling across
the green foam
of a thousand dead ponds.
My head is ablaze
from that bone-numbing sound
while my heart pounds and bangs
like a hammer of iron.
A voice is calling to me
like a drum of death,
smashing the mountains flat
and crushing my soul
into grey dust,
blown away in the wind
with only a whisper
trailing softly behind.




THE TOUCH

The lemony sunbeams
begin to leak under
the door and lighten
the icy windows.
The morning has arrived
and my head starts
to rise from the thick,
murky darkness of sleep.
A touch, as light as mist
and as soft as down
sends a sweet shiver
rippling up my back,
as she sighs like the coo
of a mourning dove.
The buttery rays of the sun
cover the chilly room
with a blanket of warmth
as she laughs into
the golden-striped air
with the song of a lark
and touches me once again,
sending me to a place
where the dawn breaks eternally
and the sunshine coats the sky
with ribbons of amber.


THE DRUM

At the heart of the world
there beats a drum.
Slow as a funeral dirge,
it bangs out a silent rhythm.
The sound echoes through
the long countless ages,
yet few can hear its fatal beat,
though all keep time.
For the sun will end its fire,
the stars will blink out
and the Earth will one day
be a lifeless rock
adrift in the cold, black silence.
Yet the endless rhythm
of that deadly drum
will beat on in mute indifference
long after the world
is but a dusty memory,
lost in a forgotten realm
of eternal darkness.


[Kenneth N Cook]


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