AT PEACE
by Ann Mortifee
I have haunted the hills for moonlit traces,
Silent wanderers, kinsmen of my soul.
I have lone-wolf beckoned upon the farthest star
Wailed my throat into a siren's call
Beckoned Creation to smite me dead
Or awaken me from slumber.
Under my foot the rock is cold
But in my chest the best of Creation hovers.
Ablaze like a thousand centuries of Suns
I am compressed into one small marble
Of stillness.
I will not perish from the cold.
I am older than starlight
And at peace with time.
The rhyme of the ancients flows in my veins
And pain and sorrow have no power
over me.
copyright Ann Mortifee 1996
