the life that comes when we are at peace with death
In that quiet place in the midnight of my dreams,
I can hear the silent whisper of a ghostly presence coming near.
Through the night he moves, in feathery stealth he flies,
His gaze is always on me, his talons reach out for me,
Yet his stalking of my life, it brings my soul no fear.
I know his eye is on me, I can feel his apparition,
He is the owl who comes for me,
Night by night, he reappears,
night by night, he hunts his prey,
And all the while, I look for him, but him I cannot see.
There is little fear in the savage forest,
merely vigilance and surrender to this relentless fate,
The squirrel must sleep, the mouse must move,
the deer must rest, and the owl must hunt,
and the prayer that the forest prays is that your time will wait.
I sometimes see his shadow in the branches up above,
His soul hides the starlight from my eyes,
seeing me, calling me, knowing me,
watching for the coming of my time, and come it will,
for he is my mortality and somehow he is ghastly wise.