They will come.
Lovelorn and dusty brained –
their feathers bent,
their eyes wide…
carried forth in the arms
of a inescapable melody;
wanting so to fly.
They will come
quivering and quiet -
like moths to a flame,
drawn by the light,
warmed by the same.
One by one
falling to the earth
before him;
exigent and
in awe.
Yes…
when he calls them-
they will come
bearing the burden
of tomorrow’s memories,
never to be the same.
And there,
with the lot of them
- forever -
he shall remain.
Christine Austin Cole
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/veridicality/
