Diaspora
In Tara's halls, harps echo;
around doth ruin lie.
Though far from home,
we shall come there by and by.
We wait as anxious children,
for their mother, now no more.
And we, with arms outstretched in passion,
reach toward that blessed shore.
Our wait is never done;
everlasting beyond Death.
Alone, in haunted twilight,
you may hear our bated breath.
Our cries for Mother Tara,
unheard in lands away,
echo in the rooms within Her,
beyond your Judgement Day.
copyright 1996
Suzanne Neeley
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