THE MASTER’S VOICE / Poem by William Warigon

Poem by William Warigon

 

THE MASTER’S VOICE

Many moons have traversed
The tails of the universe

Many seasons clothed in winter’s skins
As bitter sweet tales were told
To deceive the heart of time

All the while
Waiting for your voice to make an entrance

You are the octave
First learned on the Casio piano

Grand, deeply rooted
You are the iroko stationed
At the midriff of the old village

Lions only squeal when they roar
In your majestic presence

Zeus removes his cap
To worship at your feet

Ten thousand great Goliaths
Cannot hold a candle to you
No, they cannot

Your tongue is the fire
That licks the sea dry
And whets the Sahara wet

The workings of your mind
Confuse the computer of the angels
And they scamper in dire straits

We desire you remain here
Where the fates have glued your essence
Live among the living

Sipping from your cracked cup of wisdom
Has made life worth living
All dusts dusted from the edge of time

If nature can’t clip your wings
Who are we to venture in the enterprise?
We dare not
But hope you acquiesce…

©William Warigon

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