When The Time Finally Arrives...

When my old, broken voice can no longer
Recite psalms or utter liturgies of
Profound beauty, I'll renounce poetry,
But not its textured associations.
When pure truths can no longer be expressed,
Then they have to be cloaked in secrecy.
When my dreams and visions become dimmer,
I'll retreat into blue waves of silence.
Solitude will be like a commandment.
Equipped only with corded rosaries,
I will be thrust to the edge of the world.
There I will gather all the curious
Flowers of the ages and patiently
Transcribe their myriad meanings. I will
Take the time to nurture a little light
In the darkest of places. I will pray
Alone like a modern anchorite, lost
In the haze of twilight hours, for a marked
Change in the scheme of things. My meagre plot
Of new land will be my sanctuary.
O when my old, broken voice fades away,
I will be thrust to the edge of the world.