of Ancient Voices
there is no Doubt, as to the Relevancy of these Words, that have flown from this hope-hammered Heart of Mine, nor is there any lack of Immediacy, in Passion or Purpose, as to My Ever-present Need, Want, Deservance, or Desire, to cast Them upon every Stream of Consciousness that has ever run the Gamut of ordinary Day-to-Day Existence, or to ply My Oars, amidst The Shallows of every waveless emOceanal backWater of Antipathy, or unCertainty, or down-right aVoidance of Commitment or Conviction, that has ever caused Our collective Voice to stammer or quake, in untold and unheard Echelons of timeless Abandon, having marched for Eternity across these night-trodden Millennia, in the up-to-the-present Hope of earning just one, single, and blessed Moment of Significance, in God’s grand, and so mysterious Design . . .
and Still, I wait, for this Echo to escape, unfettered and unforsaken, from this Shell of immense and undeniable Potential, to journey back, into The Depths of Heaven from whence it came, and now clad in the Armor of a most righteous Intent, to bear witness, and to bring wonder, into the very Source of the very Reason, that Its Essence, was Ever, so inevitably required . . .
* * *
there are Thymes when I read what I have wrought, and I wonder . . .
who was this Essence, this Traveler, whose Echo rings withIn Me still, yet whose Thread, is but a whisper of a wisp of Hope, that All that was ~spoken~, All that was portrayed in undeniable Memory of what Was, is so loosed upon the World in such chaotic disArray, that I am in Awe, only because of Its former Self, and Its neverEnding capacity to capture Again My fear-weary Heart, and to cause My trembling Hand to grasp this once AllMighty Pen, that once scorched the Words with a Lightning’s Dance across even the Devil’s own Diary, and once brought The Stars to a standstill, to witness, and to wonder, of the death of Innocence, the resurrection of Forgiveness, the Birth of an Empire, called Love, Again . . .
who was this desperate Soldier of Fate’s forgotten Fortune, in whose Hand was held, All the Destinies of Men . . .
* * *
how loud must I scream, or how softly do I whisper, and what Words do I pour forth, that have not already been issued in every conceivable Manner, and in every possible Arrangement, including Those not yet recognized within fashionable or acceptable Methods of TransMission, though are fully and irrevocably placed for Ever into The TimeLine of The Reign of The Son of Man . . .
All of which, by the Surety and Substance of Faith alone, demand to be made One with The Designs and Desires of God, by Virtue of each and every Dream, Hope, Prayer or Wish that exists within The Souls of All Creation, that remain vivid and inviolate by the sheer Power of Their Courage and Conviction . . .
and need not still suffer of even a single Spasm of unCertainty, regarding Their Purpose, Place, or Path within this Universe, from this very Moment on, until every Moment, has come to pass . . .
as Ever,
I.H.
March 27th, 2011
from The Voyage of Kings – A StoryTeller’s Dream
