The Quiet Ones

THE QUIET ONES
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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