THE QUIET ONES ---------------- Ishra Ysav'rai If e'er a Muse were fit to grace A humble poet's efforts writ Mother Night, become my ink Will my paltry quill to flit Reveal Thy Father in Thine own face! Beneath the thrum of Shadowbeat The throbbing Silence yet remains Punctuating notes with rests The stillness giving life to strains Still within and still without The heavy shroud of quietude A comfort, bliss, most sacrosanct Unperturbed by shifting mood And neither words can deftly sway And better yet they went unheard For Silence has much more to say Than e're could be expressed in words As out of Silence darkness springs Fills mortal hearts with mortal dread The quiet ones bend fearless ears And learn what's lost by those who fled In darkness walks the Whispered Lord Unknown, unseen, unheard, and yet To those who still their hearts and minds He is the forest's silhouette And in His wake the fertile souls Yield twilit blossoms ever free Entranced, perchance transformed as well By unfolding mysteries Still within and still without The forest and the foresters Embraced, embracing Mother's cloak As Father's wisdom in them stirs