I hear its call,

distinct and chill

as a winter wind.

 

It calls for me

with its quiet

low and insistent

din.

 

Its voice is certainty

and uncertainty:

from beyond

the flow of

life

and the busy thoughts

that possess these fading days.

 

It calls with

greater clarity

than it did

in younger days

when only

possibilities

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.

 

26-7-2011