Ephemera (Buck)/The Neophyte

by Mitchell Starrett Buck

THE NEOPHYTE

Upon the storm-scarred summits of the mountains, among the shifting valleys of the desert wastes, across the waters' murmuring infinity, I called: but the spirits of the hills were silent; the voices of the sea made me no answer.

I turned mine eyes to the sapphire gateway of the dawn, the flaming sunset, the star-jeweled curtains of the night. I tuned my voice to the song of birds; I lay as a friend among the flowers.

And then I sought the cold, still gods, half luminous in the temple dusks. Their carven lips gave forth no word, their eyes gazed always beyond immeasured futures, but the sign of peace was graven on their brows.

And the earth awoke, pulsing with life, as I laid my heart upon the purpled altars of the dead.