A Culling Voice

The day before the sounding of three,

a heart of fire and life spins around the tree.

A culling voice whispers from behind.

The wind speaks, calling from the line.

Songs turn to memory as hearts fade away.

Wind and spirit unite

with star-crossed voyagers weaving moonlight.

Wanderers we are in this strange land of old.

Pages turn the heart; pages turn to gold.

Hero's forge sparks the path we all walk down.

Songs remembered, notes to be found.

A song of heart to inspire light;

birds of a feather, birds of night.

A wrinkle in time.

These wrinkles are mine.

Passing through yesterday's star,

aged with song and tears from afar.

I awake as dreams pass through,

as we turn from light, burning blue.

Culling voices,

reflected choices.

A thought becomes a dream

as life drifts downstream.

Voices now closed to joy;

hearts whisper an echo.

One of five, life in a tree.

The day now spent, the sounding of three.