Poem for a stormy sunset

Clear, quiet, swelling songs are born in the dying day

Echoes from faded flowers, dreams from far away

I am the silent thunder, the shadow of the midnight.

I am the soundless chorus of silver crowned starlight

Within me lies the ages, before me is the morn

I am unknown and unknowing, without force or form

Whispered splinters of sorrow drive through the countless years

And all are bound by the aching bands of newly cast tears

In the twilight, on the mountain, a clear call comes at last

And the courage of the fallen binds every heart beating, fast.

Then comes a great harmony, from all to join the one alone
And in the moment of its making, grace gilds the clouds of stone.