When The Time Finally Arrives...

When my old, broken voice can no longer Recite psalms or utter liturgies of Profound beauty, I'll renounce poetry, But not its textured associations. When pure truths can no longer be expressed, Then they have to be cloaked in secrecy. When my dreams and visions become dimmer, I'll retreat into blue waves of silence. Solitude will be like a commandment. Equipped only with corded rosaries, I will be thrust to the edge of the world. There I will gather all the curious Flowers of the ages and patiently Transcribe their myriad meanings. I will Take the time to nurture a little light In the darkest of places. I will pray Alone like a modern anchorite, lost In the haze of twilight hours, for a marked Change in the scheme of things. My meagre plot Of new land will be my sanctuary. O when my old, broken voice fades away, I will be thrust to the edge of the world.