Times of Transition

Times of Transition

By: Doug Gealy


Sheltered in the tree he calls his home
Washed by the floods that rush through him
Cleaned by sins forgiven

Fed by the sun
Laid to rest by the mortals who sing to the moon
He awakes just before light to read his scripture aloud
Settling the sun before a new day

At dusk he swings from branches
Looking from all the leafless angles
Some things
Even he has never seen
In such times of transition
Eyes may feast on delicacies far more rare than tradition
Visions to behold in the pocket of the unknown
Neither young nor old
The creature with no name
Peeks into the depths of albino pupils
Dilated amongst an orphaned wind
His mind fades with the sun


The immortal who calls a tree home
Washed by the floods that rush through him
Cleaned by sins forgiven
Finds no answers in the fog that holds his gaze
Only more questions
More beginnings without endings
In the space between day and night
The timeless being
Incapable of fearing death
Knows no more than the mortals who sing him to sleep