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  • Writer's pictureEllen Curtis

Soul Hour

Descending newly upon the potent powers that are

Are stars rendering their holy hours on our souls,

And all that I have ever known or wanted to see

Is escaping my sight like moths fleeing an exploding light.


And the very remnants of grace are upon my pillow at night

And ache to be recalled like a finely-whispered fresh frenzy;

The softly-heard birds above my crown chakra are whole

Beings filled with ultimate efflorescent love at the heart.


Remind me to tell you of the song I just penned, the shards

Of faint phantoms rebuilding themselves in my mind-mold,

And all that has been in moments will now tower like lightning

Rods for the weary-teary pods of life that grow so bright.


Distance upon miles, each minute a trek in Spirit igniting;

I caught ear to heartfelt imploring that my mission was dancing

And reimagined fullness in hours among the brambles’ hold,

And I aspire to be yours in this Divine Time beyond any rampart.


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