Hush
A young hunter bends his bow
To string it
In the shadows
Cast by the setting moon
The autumn frost has finely dusted
The fletching of his arrows
And he hears a gentle whisper
Through the hills and glades
His father has shown him
And it calls to him,
“Hush…”
For many moons it has been,
That upon these rocky ridges
And familiar hardened ground
I have bent
Or knelt to look
Yet never found
A single track or trace
Sign of her silent passage
She has slipped through
The gauze of night
And wriggled her way
Into my hazy drug dreams
Wrapped tight
In concertina wire
Bleeding through
That gap in time
Where I lay awake
Cold and sweating
Begging to sleep
Praying to die
Trudging across the fields
Of fresh cut stubble
Cutting my feet
With all my occupation;
Countless muddy trenches
I had dug around the miles
Of my Hell
Of hurts, loss and numb-swept joy
Stalking their dank loveliness
Knife in hand
Grinning
Behind the plastic eyes
Of my gasmask
Content to breathe
The poisons of my existence.
Stirring the dusty cobwebs
That hang
From the worm riddled beams
And rotting rafters
Of a long abandoned
Tobacco barn
Is her whisper,
“Hush…”
I hear her whisper,
With soft, warm lips that brush
My ear…
Of the gentle spring rains
That pop and roll
Off green oak leaves
That spread like hands
Making shadow puppets
Above the cool depths
Of my hemlock Sacristy
And I kneel
And pray
That if I could
Cut out
And bury
My own cold, dark heart
Under the ages
Of decaying leaf litter
That slumps its’ shoulders
Beneath these glacial scars
Maybe
I wouldn’t have to hear
Its’ muted thumps
Its’ crooked, rusty
Hinges and valves
That croak
And whisper,
“Hush…”
A raven ruffles its inky feathers
And croaks,
As a young student bends
Down to study
The artifact
He has uncovered
More closely
The ancient, glacial
Scarred hills and glades
Have yielded up
Yet another secret,
An age-blackened jewel
The bright autumn sun
Begins to reveal
Its’ dark artistry
Its’ curves and lines
Its’ somehow sinister design
The way it quivers
While in shadow
Oddly rolling upon his palm
Seeking those darker places
The way it seems to call to him
Softly
Warmly
He can almost
Hear it whisper,
“Hush…”
Edges 