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All Aboard For The Blessed Shrines
Wayward we go, like confused birds
Away from the blessed tree
prefering to chirrup
Over the deep blue sea.
We left our old nests.
We keep them as memorabilia!
Only i fear the owl
Who come hooting atop my tree
Trying its beak on pellets of ash
calling around,
Clawing its prey:unholy entrails
congealed in pots.
I see you scrampling for worm,
Others are immortalized or orpharned
By untimely night
Falling over the illiterate savannah.
Hot stars explode in mid-morn
Only the lucky ones see the dawn today.
Why sink in mirages
Clouding ways
That bring us homeward ?
Work in the light
Of our blessed moon
Feel its warm breath on your bossom !
We shall await the return of Angels
Carrying flowers of love
From the garden of heaven.
The smell of nectar
Shall set our minds free.
And when our dream is conceived
How lovely are those Angels
All dressed for the ritual of Lamp !
No light may grow dim, now
The skies are bright,
ripe smiling faces
face heavenward in grace.
Such splendid work here! The metaphors are startling and fresh, the whole poem is alive and forces me to think. Pat
A very inspirational poem, Milton...although there are dark and unpleasant elements of contrast within.
Full of hope and bliss, for a (crazy) world of now ~
I have enjoyed my stay in your hall very much.
Smilesz.
U write very well, my man .
Continue posting..and i hope to see some comments from u too ~
Ciao, now~