The Wreath of Silence / Joshua Alan Sturgill
Over ocean, over mountain
by the river’s swift cascade
there stands an Alabaster Temple
tapestried in rich brocade.
And in the Temple’s eastern tower,
up a stair of light and shade
you’ll find an oak-and-ivory altar
marked with runes, on which is laid
the form and image of a wreath of roses
carved in moon-white jade.
Like living stone or frozen fire,
petals sharp as dagger-blades,
they circle in unmoved progression
so within their crown is made
a well or womb of holy Silence
whence, to each in need, is weighed
a balm for word-inflicted wounds
and healing for the speech-betrayed.
Not the quiet tide of sleeping
nor the mute pride of the staid,
but a fount of soundless language
into which no lie can wade
awaits the patient soul who dares
ascend the stair of light and shade
to humbly stand before the altar
knowing need and having prayed.
O Pilgrim, pilgrim! Come and drink;
there are no bars and no blockade.
The citizens of Noise turn back
because they find they are afraid.
As the temple walls re-echo
soft, the river’s swift cascade
and as the veil reveals the bride
is truth by beauty overlaid.
Likewise, lending shape to silence: roses
carved in moon-white jade
All poetry and supplementary material: copyright 2024 by Joshua Alan Sturgill. All rights reserved.
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