What Spectre Beckons?

What spectre beckons from across the dark divide?
What moves the earth beneath, what masses grow inside?

If the morning robin mourned with dark and haunting tune;
If the doves cried out at night with reverie for the moon;
If the masses from the sea upon the land did take;
If your loved ones laid to rest and never they did wake:
Would you then rise from bed with eyes // same as were before?
Would you decide to stem the tide, to enter into war?

What battalions, bastions will await far side of crimson field?
What fears, resentment hide in the heart of noble pride, refuse to yield?

If, when you kneel to knee you still do not know;
If the questions asked come right back, empty echo volume low;
If the guiding light that dwells inside fades from flare to glow;
If when rising towards the skies you find yourself at once below;
Would you return, your wings now burned, your wax melted in pools?
Would you accept, would you elect // the apathy of fools?

What thoughts course through the whole of you as on your back you lie?
What apprehensions to which you cling, permeate through everything;
What ties will still bind you when you die?

There is a place, a sacred space, ‘tween what we see and what sees into you.
There is a light, not dark, not bright, that sways and shines right through.
There is a chance, a cautious glance, that captured can renew.
There is a flood, a depth of blood, not crimson /!/ azure blue.
In veins run chains, sycophantic pains, and in them runs the proof.
In shadows light, sunshine at night, in space between: the truth.