All Is Well

by Steve King

© 2012

All is well, I promise you.

Do not be concerned by my

sometimes detached bemusements.

These are but easy retreats

to unspoke and stubborn dreams

where the past pursues new forms

and new wants reshape old charms.

You must not think ill of me.

These diversions inform but

my own still imaginings—

sparring with my old designs,

sanctuary from keen foils,

or just finding silence there—

call it whatever you will,

it is just a tiny step

removed from your waiting world.

Yours is no thin shadow place

to leave behind.  No burdens,

satisfactions unfulfilled,

no wasted unique glories

to drain the measure of me.

All is well enough, I know,

there in the outward brilliance

of common sight, where you wait

for my strange quiet to end.

I would explain everything

of this musing well within;

but there is still mystery

lying at the heart of it.

This mystery, this darkness

will not yield to my desires.

It’s a backdrop set against

somber glows from ancient pyres,

whose light never penetrates

inward from its waning fires.

And so shall the darkness grow

with accelerating years,

swallowing whole things once known,

making my dreams slip their grasp,

while old songs reprise as sighs.

I would trace each scattered spark,

and would try to harmonize

each echo, each fading note.

So far will my eyes not see,

nor ears own such reverie.

Yet all is well, believe it.

All remembrance must be so.

And so indeed, I wager,

are the unsung harmonies

a-play beneath your calling.

I will wait when it must be,

while you linger inwardly,

while you the passing choir

illumine with the flickering

of your own secret fire.