Fallen Feather

By Dennis Young

Princess, Princess, where art thou?

Flown to clouds on wings of angels, light or dark.

Taken to a place

Where souls and spirits hear their fates

Pronounced by gods in golden robes

With choirs singing,

Or lamentations filling hearts with dread.

Princess, Princess, where art thou?

Flown to clouds, ears piqued, attentive.

Mind alert and breath anticipating,

Waiting for the cord to sever with finality.

“Tell me! I must know!”

“I cannot abide the silence of your Voice!”

“Speak!  Eternity awaits!”