Sander Roscoe Wolff

Birthright
by Sander Roscoe Wolff ©

This eternal night dissolves,
Consumed by dawn’s desire.
The sun’s fire burns away
All remnants of yesterday.

This ritual of death and birth
Arising from the memory:
A chemistry of subtle energy
Mixed into an elixir of consciousness.

The symbols imbued within
Contain the vastness of humanity.
Each silent whisper echoes
In the corridors of history.

Each utterance evokes
The mystery none can name:
This terrible reality
Risen from imaginings.

Once called, it comes unbidden,
Spreading into every corner,
Inexorably driven
Until all is one.

These secrets, held, breed in the minds of all peoples.
Names appear in dreams,
Words half heard in silence.
Even when forgotten they rise,
Bred into our very flesh,
Born upon the lips of angels.

We live and die not knowing
That these things are in us,
Feeling their pull, the drawing toward,
And never touching that which is
Our birthright.

Not knowing, we find a bit of peace
And ignore its ceaseless call
Until it grows so loud that
We must answer it.

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