Poetry

The grains of sand fall quickly through
  A past that time forgets
Who we were, where we’ve been and
  Where we shall go hence.
 
While much is learned, so much is lost
  Though wisdom ever speaks
She sings her song to right the wrongs
  Her children there to teach.
 
Why do the groves stand empty?
  Where lay the rowan staff?
Who’s song will pierce the darkness?
  Whose words will paint the past?
 
To master, ovate, and those between
  To poet, musician and bard
Let not the pen rest out of hand
  Nor hold back the living word.
 
The light of inspiration shines
  On those called to receive it
Let’s raise our quill, sing our song
  And dare now to believe it.

           ~Christopher Thor Britt, 2012©