Northern_Lights_2016

28 The Lamp Nathan Abraham The lamp draws its light Around the still framed shadows Caressing their deep lines Across the watchful flame. Old windows light their yellow eyes And radiate their dusty glow Through the echo of silent space. Shivering steel rays Advance once more Riding the musical notes Of the suspended evening song. Untitled Winter’s pride, the eyes can hide as a dismal, distant barren; The colors drab, the sleeping grass beneath a solemn sky. But on closer look, the withered scape bursts forth with living color! The strawbailed hills, with great antiquity, reflect the touch of Midas. Their fallen form, a testament, to the once proud walls, Jerusalem. And oh the sky! its sweet azure sits rightly with the field; A comfort blanket of placid blue cloaks the realm of man. And in some banks, some frozen shore the virgin snow reflects; The sky drips down in slivered patches, the blue amongst the gold. For now I see what she intends, With such regal gloom’s inspiration. Will Tiensvold