FLUTE SHADOW
It is not her bone that amuses my muse
nor the holes drilled in it spaced evenly
or not, but the heavenly breath that spirit
blows, its moist music a metaphor of soul.
No morbid tragic tome, only a joyous flow
When sparks of magic escape her prison dark,
Fly to another world where light, shadow and
shade are one - birth, death and life eternal.
The skills of one's fingers sing for the ghost
Who journeys far and yet whose voice close beside
always whispers love, an image of shadow within,
of one that overcomes us, and one forever above.
