“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary.” – Edgar Allan Poe
A voice cries before midnight, and he hears it as a “Hermit Thrush“, flute like, ethereal, rare for winter, rarer still before midnight. This is mystery.
The weaver comes to finish work, that is of his own hand, in the darkness from near Boat Mountain the seraphim walks so fast. Comes he to spin sounds past breathing, an instrument of the past. Dusk has fallen to its knees, and midnight is soon to pass. Dusk has fallen to its knees, and midnight is soon to pass.
He bathes before midnight, in a dream that’s of falling sand, like a curtain from lost ages, that last barrier to the promised land. With the whispers of angels that ask for his hand, bloodless in their quiet talk, they shimmer where they stand. They whisper with lyrics from the “Hurdy Gurdy Man“, derived now, while praying six stars to Neverland. He murmurs, he whispers, “I do think of fathoms of distances without end, sometimes before midnight, it scares me if I Am.” “How far up Jacob’s tree, to the mother that sews, the end of purpose, from my life of promise, here in the gardens of G_D’s shadowland. This rocky earth soothed by the blade in a farmer’s hand.”
The weaver moves like a danseur, counting a six-pronged display, the seal moves around the bowing angels, their inner eyes on display. Comes he to spin sounds past breathing, an instrument of the past. Dusk has fallen to its knees, and midnight is soon to pass. Dusk has fallen to its knees, and midnight is soon to pass.
He thinks of time like a battlefield, in life’s journey from end to end, all day breathing blood and fury, until the dusk arrives on wind. All his thought from his first day of wonder has been, a catalyst, a catalyst to this very end. All around his valley moves, his valley moves within. Sulfur Springs rising evening vapors, near Boat Mountain where life began. The soil cries out unto its maker, I cannot produce again. Minutes leading him from faith’s beginning toward midnight to turn again. Demarcation in a weakened body in a movement by a hand, pocket watch stopped at midnight in the crossing with no bends. Turning in his bed clothes, to begin all life again. Turning in his bed clothe, to begin all life again.
A voice cries after midnight. He does not hear it. It is a “Hermit Thrush”, flute like, ethereal, rare for winter, rarer still after midnight. This is mystery. – 10.10.2018 – דָנִיֵּאל
Reblogged this on GrannyMoon's Morning Feast.
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Thank you! 🙂
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Well done Daniel, a somber piece with many deep lessons!
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Thank you King, it was one that actually meant something to me! 😉
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Your welcome Daniel, It came across that way. Wording carried intensity and passion, as if you were a part of an actual scene.
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I loved this post. Classic in wording with so many memorable lines but one toward the beginning does it most for me, “He bathes before midnight, in a dream that’s of falling sand, like a curtain from lost ages, that last barrier to the promised land. ” ❤
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Hi Summer, thank you for your comment, I am happy you liked this. The line actually came to me after I had written most of the piece, and just seemed to fit.
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It was a great intro, to a wonderful piece of writing, I also liked the beginning mystery line and how you repeated it at the end. (with a small difference of course)
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Very mystical Daniel, with the same underlying current you bring to all your great writing. I pictured the Seraphim as a piper of sorts. 😉
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Thank you Wang, you hit on it. The piper or the HGM as the song says was what I visualized. 😉
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The interesting part for me was looking at the character of the piper, dark though he was, he was not necessarily evil in my mind. Correct or no on that???
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Very correct my friend, very correct!:)
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“ll his thought from his first day of wonder has been, a catalyst, a catalyst to this very end.” Fabulous and filled with life’s truth’s…
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Thank you Rachel for reading and your kind comment. The catalyst is life I hope. We shall all see someday.
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Your welcome! 🙂
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Daniel this was touching and a beautiful rare portrait of death, or as presented the beginning, the transfer from one spectrum to another. Well written, one of your finest.
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Hi Lynette, Thank you for your kind comment. I do appreciate the time you take to read and think about what I write. I like the way you put that, from one spectrum to another.
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Your welcome Daniel. I look at life as a spectrum, all lives as spectrum’s. 🙂
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Perfect story Daniel, I felt a personal touch to it. Was the old man someone close to you? Your words were lyrical and filled with lessons from a life well lived. Once again a favorite for me. ❤ ❤ ❤
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Dear Heather, Yes as usual you are on to something. I pictured while writing this piece my grandfather on my mother’s side. He lived to be 96 years of age and I would like to think his last midnight was as presented. Thank you for once again getting it. Daniel
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Daniel, I should have known the character had such a richness to him that he had to be related. His soul must still be a part of yours. ❤
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Indeed it is my friend, he was actually a character, an Arkansas Hillbilly who farmed the Ozarks. ‘)
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Neat! Thank you for sharing that with me, hopefully more about him in future writings….;)
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Oh yes I think so!
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I shall be there first in line to enjoy those adventures. 🙂
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🙂
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My brother, you have touched my very soul with this piece of well-crafted writing. It could be very well titled a man of the earth speaks. It’s as if I can hear my father speaking from beyond life. He was a farmer. Thank you. Shalom, Den
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Hi Dennis, Your comment means a lot to me. What a valuable man your father must of been. Thank you for sharing that with me. Shalom, Daniel
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Very welcome brother. We share it seems a great wealth when it comes to our forefathers. It is wonderful we have forums such as this to discuss that heritage. Shalom Den
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I look forward to the day I get to break bread with you and discuss this subject matter as well as many others. Shalom, Daniel
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❤ this. The "Hurdy Gurdy Man" fit perfectly. You have a gift!
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Thank you very much Heidi for your comment, I appreciate very much the compliment. I love the Hurdy Gurdy Man song. 😉
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Dear Daniel,
Like many of your readers I found the personal connection involved in this piece to be endearing. The main character reminds me also of my Father toward the end of his life. This meant much to me. Thank you. ❤ Ruby
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Hi Ruby, thank you so much for sharing that with me I am so happy this brought out something personal for you on your own father. Between you and I and who ever comes along to read comments this was a favorite for me to write. 😉
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Dear Daniel, I could tell, there was something about the flow of this one that said he is more at home than ever. It was wonderful. ❤ Ruby
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🙂
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I enjoyed Midnight very much Daniel. To be so fortunate at the end, to reflect and know what is going on around ones self. To be ready to go forward. Always forward. Thank you my young friend. Bill
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Thank you my friend. Bill I truly think we don’t have the fortune some of our ancestors had to go in a natural way, maybe we are to pumped up with meds, I don’t know just a personal observation. What do you think.
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Yes, yes yes, I agree. we have a strange aversion to death in our culture. We glorify it yet we are terrified of it. Soon we will say it does not exist even as we succumb to it.
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Can’t like enough Bill. You are spot on!
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The change over at midnight, it was a great line of demarcation. The creativity in this is astounding Daniel. The sum of life wrapped into midnight. ❤
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Thank you Lauren, I do appreciate your kind comment so much. You are correct midnight was the line of demarcation, a term I consider my WWI term. My grandfather actually served in France in WWI and I used him to model this piece. 🙂
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Hi Lauren, thank you for you kind comment. I love what you said, “The sum of life wrapped into midnight” That my friend is profound. 🙂
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This was lovely, your post are always full of mystery.
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Thank you Itsa, I am so happy you liked Midnight. I love that you describe my post as full of mystrey. Makes my day. 😉
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Your welcome Daniel, the mystery is the reason I look forward to your post. 😉
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Thank you.
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Great writing Mr. Swearingen. I could visualize that midnight very well with the angel advancing from Boat Mountain. Some might call it Folklore, I would not. 😉
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Hi Ryan, Love your comment especially the no folklore part. Just so you know, I agree most folklore is not. 😉 Thank you my friend.
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Daniel I have often thought the same, there is a truth at the beginning of every lore, that stays true throughout it’s belief. Once again this was a great read!
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“Dusk has fallen to it’s knees”, loved the description. One my favorites you have written here. We go on from this life, I am convinced of it. A gift to go at midnight.
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Thank you Darrin for your comment. I couldn’t agree more. Very lyrical what you wrote BTW.
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Thank you Daniel, I am not sure I can take credit for it, but at the moment can’t remember who to source it too. 😉
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Really a good write Daniel, enjoyed it very much.
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Thank you Carmel. I am happy that you liked it.
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Your welcome. Always appreciate your prose.
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“How far up Jacob’s tree, to the mother that sews, the end of purpose, from my life of promise, here in the gardens of G_D’s shadowland. This rocky earth soothed by the blade in a farmer’s hand.” I loved this!!! ❤ 🙂
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Thank you Deb, so happy you liked this piece. It was fun to write. 🙂
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YW! 🙂
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Midnight the dead of night, very well written Daniel. The way the post begins and ends is genius.
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Hi Steve, midnight is indeed the dead of night, I knew somebody would catch on. 😉 Thank you for reading and commenting.
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I go to the links when they are there! 😉
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🙂
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So well written Daniel, i loved every word. ❤ 🙂
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Thank you Lisa, happy you liked this, always appreciate you reading and commenting.
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Happy to read and comment, and your welcome. ❤ 🙂
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Hi Daniel, There was something about your description of the older man’s death that was so peaceful. His reflection on life, the reverence of angels, and the hour of midnight. Another well done piece. ❤
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Thank you Gigi for a great comment. I am thrilled that you caught on to the peacefulness involved in this scene. I was hoping that it came across. 🙂
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Your welcome. 🙂
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This was beautiful Daniel, the line crossed where the pocket watch stops at midnight brought a chill to me. Lovely descriptions. ❤
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Thank you Abigail. The pocket watch was a main symbol to the whole piece. Just so you know I own that pocket watch, a great symbol to be passed down. 😉
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Your welcome Daniel. That is so neat that you own that watch. What a treasure to have!
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Intense and amazing visuals in this prose, Daniel!
Hurdy Gurdy Man is perfectly paired with your writing.
OMG! The visuals in HGM are gorgeous… the gowns, the long hair, the castles, Lady Godiva………that odd noise from the Hurdy Gurdy.
It’s given me an idea to think on.
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Hi Resa, Thank you, I am happy you liked this. I too loved the video, actually have to say it reminded me of you. Looking forward to hearing about the idea it gave you. 🙂
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You write in a surreal way. I enjoyed this very much, and am looking forward to more of your post.
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Thank you Alisha for your kind comment, I am happy you liked this. Welcome to my blog.
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Your welcome, my pleasure! 🙂
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