John DeBona Poems

Michael Angelo

A rock, and an angel trapped inside.
An artist with hammer and chisel.
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Frozen breath
edge of death
icy field
broken shield
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Sons of Heaven,
on Blazing wings.
Signs in the sky of
marvelous things
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Why do I feel so heavy?
Could it be that my pockets are too full?
I've been collecting souvenirs and memories
for a lifetime now.
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Whispers of yesterday
float on the mist
The moon, a lonely
eye reflecting on
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Midnight mist
darkened moon
howling wind
evils loom
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A razors slice
in a darkened room
Blood on ice
A welcome doom
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Eyes of searing flame
Visions of another time
Against the churches reign
Words in an occult rhyme
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I view into a starry night
and finally comprehend
a downward sprial staircase
into madness it descends
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It was a clear hot day in South Central Texas.
Many years separate the actual happening and memories that linger like forgotten dreams. I was young, idealistic, and hopeful. I couldnt stand being inside the house, too many unexplained noises and voices. I stepped outside onto the front porch, and my sight was drawn upward, pulled like tightening thread from an unseen hand in the sky.
From the north, a fast moving band of mammatus clouds came billowing forth, swallowing the sky as they stretched forth. The darkness and depth and movement, spoke in a language unknown. It drew me in. I felt as if I were in the spirit, I could feel the darkening change of static, the depth of the clouds, and the hand behind them.
One with it, I stood in awe, daring not to move or breath, lest the conciousness that I had been made aware of strike me. Evolutions of wrath, majesty, power and love.
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