the consort

beyond physicality, doubt lingers not
realism consummated in torrid soul
by fir'y midnight word communions
peaceful now with patient minist'rings
the darkling bard; wise, compassionate, ageless
nightengale wings pound trapped within
he calms them, swings wide the gilded door
and lulls them free to lazy sky-circles
a soft velvet pallet he lays in his heart
inviting eternal to those who seek comfort
the wind howls forceful, invoking change
he, solid like gypsy cart home, remains 
as grains of timesand wear the land smooth
when buffeting gusts subside once again
he takes up, wandering plains, hills, 
mountains; driving the quest eternal