The Trumpet Call

The Trumpet Call
At dawn, her eye is drawn toward wooded land,
Where mountain ridges cut a jagged line.
A stream bursts forth, its spray a silver strand,
Winding paths through the valley, serpentine.
As Scholar, walking where the roots entwine,
She steps alone, her mind in quiet bloom.
The forest breathes a psalm into this shrine,
She finds in nature’s grace a sacred room—
Where breeze embraces like a mother’s womb.

She lingers there, astonished yet serene.
Every glade unfolds, becoming profound.
The moss is velvet where her feet had been,
The stream, a voice in clear, melodious sound.
As light from heaven, splits the sky around—
No earthly light, but radiance turned to tone;
It shakes the hills, it makes her heart unbound,
It summons her to rise, no more alone,
To seek the light before the veils are thrown.

The Seraphim come, wings of ember flame,
Not with rebuke, but glory in their eyes.
They speak no word, yet the faithful in name
Alive with fire, like dawn in midnight skies—
come with spirit quickened—truth realized:
That life itself is audience and stage;
The play of time, the stars that circle wise,
The stream, the hill, the scholar’s fleeting age—
Turn upward, names written on sacred page.

She follows swift, her pulse a measured psalm,
The trumpet echoes, threading through her breath.
No fear remains, but rather holy calm,
A song that banishes sorrow, doubt, and death.
She sees then a kingdom of golden depth—
Its arches bend like rivers toward the sun;
And there she stands, forgiven, washed clean of sins,
By one both near, more dear than any one:
Her soul new in form, though made of light—grins.
Her kin, her crown, her origin begins.

Her gaze lifts upward, in silent amaze,
The sky itself unfolds in wings of flame.
Once more the trumpet calls, its summons raise—
The voice of God proclaims His Son’s claim.
And then for her soul, blessed Seraphim come:
No time for talk, the audience has begun.
She follows fast, her spirit all aflame,
Received and grateful to the sacred one
As honored guest by Father and by Son.

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About the Author: Sarah B. Royal

Sarah B. Royal’s writing defies convention. Her poetry and prose traverse the boundaries between structure and spontaneity, often weaving together philosophical inquiry, cultural reflection, and personal narrative. With a background in experimental literature, she is known for crafting works that challenge readers to engage intellectually and emotionally.

Her acclaimed palindrome performance play, 777 – A Story of Idol Worship and Murder, showcases her fascination with mirrored storytelling and thematic symmetry. In o x ∞ = ♥: The Poet and The Mathematician, Royal explores the intersection of poetic intuition and mathematical logic, revealing a unique voice that is both analytical and lyrical.

Royal’s collections—such as Lost in the Lost and Found, Haiku For You, Lantern and Tanka Too, and the WoPoLi Chapbook Series—highlight her commitment to neurodivergent expression and poetic experimentation. Whether through childhood verse or contemporary fusion poetry, her work invites readers into a world where language is both a tool and a playground.

Sarah B. Royal continues to expand the possibilities of poetic form, offering readers a deeply personal yet universally resonant experience. Her writing is a testament to the power of creative risk, intellectual depth, and emotional authenticity.

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