2004
The tranquil Storm Flute.
Vaughn L. Brown
Playing my flute, listening
To the snow drift.
Leaning forward with eagerness, holding
My note of pride.
The warmth of the fire
Gently kissing my face.
My coat hangs wet from the
Ride through the misery of
Brutal storms. My hands shake
As I cut a slice of bread covered in charcoaled ash,
The trees near the window lashed and scratched.
During the times of storm, my heart does not fear.
During the times of darkness, my soul does not terror.
During the times of abhorrence, my love does not fade.
During confrontation of swords my pride does not vacillate.
In my ash covered hands I hold
The amber flute of peace.
I play the notes of pride;
I play the notes of hope;
I play the notes of indulgence;
I play the notes of love;
I play the notes of warmth;
I play the notes of potency;
The last notes are saved for existence.
The energy in this room is tranquil.
The energy outside is atrocious.
I enjoy such balances; it is a fair game.
I sit by the fire knowing that there
Are no reasons to fear.
The fire crackles, the window rattles;
I am not frightened by the balanced battle. |