The Waltz

A Poetic Contemplation

Picture by L. T. Noble, 2006.

This is a special post for the 100th day of my Substack page. Wonder of wonders, it’s on Thanksgiving Day in the USA! So I thought it appropriate to thank all my subscribers and followers who have been faithfully reading (and cheering) my stories. I am amazed and thankful to have such an audience. Thank you all!

I wrote the following poem in 2008 halfway around the world from where the picture was taken. Both the picture and the poem are mementos of brutal pain and glorious beauty (those stories are their own books, so I won’t go into them here). It suffices to say: two years, two continents, two intentions, two events, two certainties of death, and two gifts of life.

On this day of Thanksgiving, I am ever thankful to have survived this long (against many expectations), to write the poems and stories you are now reading. So I hope you enjoy it and look forward to hearing what you think about it!

The Waltz

By L. T. Noble

Sojourner comes to the line,
Peering through the mists of time:
Though dimly at first, he perceives a vision light;
Captivated by the glory,
Within the image’s story,
He is encompassed by the flow of hallow’d white.

Whirling emerald rainbows,
Humming stars, silver glow:
Within the music, the universe as a whole;
Hidden by human existence,
And only a few gain entrance,
To the mystery, a waltz, a union of souls.

Within the panorama,
The galactic enigma,
The sojourner finds there be at hand, a union;
And there amidst the singing stars,
Gathers a vast host from afar,
As martyrs, to observe this sacred communion.

The hollow circle they form,
Yet unbroken and untorn,
Is the frame of the mirror of eternity;
Then, from the furthest domains hurled,
Lo! Even the kings of the world,
Send forth offertory praise as the twain they greet.

He, a teller of lays,
Called to bring the end of days,
A captain in the host, a soldier immortal;
The curse of men weighs on his brow,
But his eyes shine with passion now,
For the object of his love has travailed through all.

She, a maiden of light,
Clad in gowns of white:
A victorious mother of souls in her time;
Graced with valor as angels high,
She now stands to join with his life,
A soul mate in the ancient war, she is aligned

Opposite another,
They move toward each other,
Stepping onto the sheer plane of eternity;
How beautiful is the love there!
Flowing from their eyes through the air—
One in mind and step, the substance of unity.

To the point of the ring,
They their love, their death, bring:
With a bow and curtsy, they enjoin with the waltz;
Viewing her, he offers a stand;
Still in curtsy, she takes his hand:
He lifts her to his side, the place no time can halt.

Hearts pulse, their breath quickens:
The thrill of what begins,
Within the waltz, that is, the union of two souls;
He leads, taking his duty’s place,
And joy emanates from her face,
As she follows step, beyond that which pride annuls.

The lords of the host cry:
“Behold the lovely bride!”
And a dozen stars gather about her fair brow;
Then, the man whispers in her ear:
“As my love is thine, have no fear,
For thou art my bride and the glory of my crown.”

He holds her in his arms,
And drinks in all her charms;
Yet, beyond his love, there runs a loyalty true;
His king calls when battle draws nigh:
He answers with her at his side;
Aye, the battle is hard, but soldiers twain are few.

The lords of the expanse
Wait with awed expectance,
Gazing into the mirror of eternity;
For the hollow ring they did form,
Has a victorious death born,
A domain joined by laic blood of loyalty.

The gathered host bends praise,
To the singer of days,
For their joy is full as they ponder this great sign:
A captain and his maiden bride,
A sword with a gem at his side;
Silence like rain falls: they perceive true love’s design.

Whirling wheels of fire bright,
The waltz burns sheer delight,
O! The glory of their union pierces hearts through:
The twain of minds move in one flow,
Two forms but one shadow;
“What,” sojourner asks, “can be more lovely to view?”

Heaving a sigh of withdrawal,
He watches the veil fall:
That which separates the eternal from the years;
Having tasted of loving airs,
“Love!” the sojourner now declares,
“This mystery! He who has an ear, let him hear!”