The dome is drawn, a crystal bright,
a veil of waters catching light.
Sunfire strikes, the colours flee,
but blue is held for you and me.

The firmament, a glassy sea,
bends the light so gently.
Reds slip through, and gold shines true,
yet day is dressed in azure hue.

It is no void, nor endless night,
but waters turned to living light.
A ceiling vast, both deep and near,
that sings of home when skies are clear.

So when you gaze where swallows flew,
know the dome has clothed the view.
A garment woven, old yet new,
to shield the realm in robes of blue.

And should the firmament ever part,
revealing chambers, realm to chart

More Poems from the Firmament

and from Beneath the Dome

Moonlight’s Whisper

The Sun gives fire, the day made bright,
the Moon returns with borrowed light.
Silver glow that chills the skin,
a whisper of realms we’re hidden within.

Not warmth, but cool, not flame, but breath,
a glow that hints at life and death.
Is it a mirror, a lamp, a veil,
a crystal window, a spectral trail?

It does not grow, it does not burn,
its light is secret, it does not turn.
The moon light chills before it’s past,
The shadow cast can worm at last.

The Sun proclaims, the Moon confides,
a quiet signal from other sides.
Its silver breath dissolves the night,
a borrowed glow, a fading light …