Alabaster island in a sea of hate and doom,
Silver streak of lightning in the dark and dreary gloom,
Crimson rivers flowing to the cold and lonely ground,
Drifting fog of silence slowly creeping all around.
Empty voices whisper in the shadows of the night,
Tunnels in the distance ending in unbroken light,
Hopes and fears receding into shapes before unseen,
Shifting thoughts of solace that at one time seemed unclean.
Rocky tracks sketched out across the alabaster shore,
Stormy seas have calmed now and lay silent ever more,
Shadows laid to rest within the warm forgiving ground,
Dreams take shape in sunlight as true peace at last is found.
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Comments about this poem (Renascentia by Arik Fletcher )
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