The Psychopomp’s Song

A Year of Sonnets #88

Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy on Unsplash

She comes to me, like music in a light,
an ancient story wreathed in mortal skin,
with upheld hand, she bids me leave the fight
just walk away — a whole new tale begins.
The flower of her dress, a whispered song
that blossoms in a wave of muted sighs;
in gentle arms, she carries me along
off somewhere new, where I can realize
new stellar spectra from that distant shore
which moral eyes alone could not resolve;
her golden palms awake the hidden door.
Behind my feet the stony world dissolves.

A trickle and a fade, I walk away;
she guides me past the world’s weary sway.