Conjurer, dark’s carrier-
symbol’s undertaker.
Poets have spied upon you,
unleashing your symbolic mask
as an altar hovering with death.
Speak no more, the human’s
language.
Breathe easy bird
as you float subterranean wings-
heeding God’s calling.
Lonely,
misunderstood by the ages-
Voices of poetry chanting,
fear, death and mystery’s
blind alley.
“There you are now” said God.
“Go feed my prophet,
who is hungry,
who has withstood
the desert of knowing.”