All That Will Not Be

All That Will Not Be

To what empty shores might your storm carry me
as I name the stars above this restless sea?
Gaze upon each truth, in fixed forgetfulness,
know each secret sin I must someday confess.
Edging forward now, ablaze then in regress,
crossing ebon fields, points dim and luminesce;
laugh on in eternal cold cacophony,
light my way to shores of all that will not be.

Now in fear I cower, now in ecstasy;
prophets shoulder forth and vie to set me free.
Let them slip me keys to promised doors and gates;
in the rooms of darkness, naught I know awaits.
As the stars grow silent, as each storm abates,
voices of the void take up our whispered fates;
echoes chasing echoes through infinity
fade among the vaults of all that will not be.

Stephen Brooke ©2026 

for some reason, I'm fond of trochaic hexameter