A Music
I heard music,
music I could give no name to,
music posing questions,
seeming on the brink of possibilities to come.
Tentative, like someone hardly daring
to offer a stroking hand, a kiss,
an incognito guest come with benediction,
a dear friend I couldn't quite recognise,
or as if a door was opening
and I could embrace loved ones now gone.
It spoke of hope and unrealised joys
when piercing sunbeams
were about to break on the horizon
speaking not with certainty
but with promises.
The spell was greater
because I could give it no name,
or know from whose pen it flowed,
its source to me a mystery.
The not knowing, the absence of thought
enhanced its potency,
speaking from a void with no
origin, no identity, source
or proclaimed message,
no pretence or show
but just a cloud of colour
in unassuming simplicity.
This might be the music,
which, if I entered the glowing mansions
of some life in a dream to come,
the music that would be welcoming me,
and I would enter with open arms
and in joy.