Birdsong floats above
To a higher place
Fingers to lips
Lest words curse
The flight
Of such birds.
Angels voices
In higher praise
To warriors old
Now gone from
This earth
To a greater place.
The hanging vine
Belly spurts fruit
In the cycle of life
Amidst its joy and strife
Where echoes echo
In deepest valley
Above mountain top
To the darkest alley.
Spirits return
To survey life
In its weakest whisper
Its strongest shout
When curtains fall
Heavy to floor
I sense your presence
At the bright door.