WL Schuett

Quiet Lion

Snow falling through

a hole in the roof. 

Blue lights in

a Thousand castles .


Through the door 

that no longer opens

the Quiet Lion 

still speaks .


My Fathers whispers 

still ring in my ears .

Through a house full of dust 

and windows made of Stone.


Barefoot at the waters edge

trapped forever in the slack tides .

Something inside has broken 

I know it will never heal .


Into the kiss of the summers heat .

The rumble of the brown Earth.

The rhythm of the gentle waves. 

A tolling of a lonesome bell .

In the swirl of the quiet light .

His name is always on the wind . 


May the Angels speak

the ancient whispers

and sooth the Quiet Lion . 

Say his name for peace .