The Call

I hear its call,

distinct and chill

as a winter wind.


It calls for me

with its quiet

low and insistent



Its voice is certainty

and uncertainty:

from beyond

the flow of


and the busy thoughts

that possess these fading days.


It calls with

greater clarity

than it did

in younger days

when only


were heard.


I hear it call

like a trickling stream

that flows cold

in my veins.


Its voice,

like that of the Sirens,

draws me in,

and not even fear

can hold it back.


I hear the call

and I must go

to the places

it will take me.



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