Photo by Gamaliel Masters


The dead has not arisen
But the grave cannot contain the need.
Earth reclaims her own
But releases the human cry.
Why fear this ghost of love
Companion of former seasons,
Scurry and scamper to avoid this pain,
This gnawing in the walls?
There is no refuge.
This hibernation past
These blossoms tremble in the ghostly wind,
This is Death's beautiful sting.
Tongues of men cry this need;
Tongues of angels sing the answer.

Utah 1983
M. Reynolds

[To Cosmic Wind Main Page] In The Eye Of The Magick Circle, art by Norman E. Masters