In Silence They Return

From the ocean a vessel is lifted high,
swamped by waves sped forth by the
winds. I see it being hurled by all the
exerting forces of the universe; tossed
like a steak into the fire until all that’s
left is burning coal.

I could try and feign aversion, grieve
for the evil that will befall it, but that
would be selfish. Soon, many will
inquire about loved ones, shaking their
fists at the fullness of the moon, not
seeing the silver string of Torus,

that recycles its own energy. Silence
will come with a degree of impartiality
and I will turn my eyes downward,
almost lifeless, not revealing the dreams
of premonition nor the spiritualist
within me.

Whether walking or asleep, I’ve heard
the peculiar graces of their voices; the dead.
They advance towards me, telling me of
expeditions and encounters that have
taken place after death. Whispers
signify their will and I listen.

They penetrate through the crux of
all energy, reaching the open spaces
that implore pardon as ivy twines round
oars hindering their motion. And my silence
is long and thick like a dark cloud of grief
that dances ever so slightly; Heaven’s last
best gift.

Theresa likes to write about matters of self-inflection and personal experiences. She likes to write about matters of an out-of body, out-of-mind state, as well as subjects of an idyllic, pagan nature and the occult. Theresa writes horror, as well as concrete gritty and realistic dramas. Theresa is said to be witch and a poet. (within the horror writing community).

Find more by Theresa C. Gaynord in the Author Index.

Comment on this story in the Aphelion Forum

Return to Aphelion's Index page.