The Piper by Tonya Moore

The Piper has no voice,
He carries the wind
in his pocket and his song
spills from betwixt golden fingers;

The night knows him,
this mysterious master of destiny;
His chaotic resonance streams
through whirlwinds and the countless
wonders of swirling galaxies;

We carry him in our hearts
and try to name this inexplicable warmth
that accompanies us in the dark;
We strain to listen,
blind eyes turned to the sky;

The stars shine down,
winking their glittery code
for the soul to decipher and I wonder,
Am I free to believe
that I can follow that mad music
All the way into eternity?

Tonya R. Moore

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