A Transition Poem by mark anthony st. rose

As beauty fades into disappearing night,
Escaping into mists of thin air of white.
But blown mysteriously by a strange soft wind,
The flower, the heights of youthful blossom spin.
Remembers the joy, the pains in bosoms locked,
And dances dolorous dark night’s passions stocked.
As if it were to welcome beauty’s dying fate,
As if it were to summon saviour’s powers late.
An acceptance now of the transient nature of things,
Though still sings an eternal wisdom ever sings
Of a rebirth within the relic soil,
Of hands again to plough the rugged toil.
To glimpse once more a mortal beauty, the sun;
Beauty’s new face found upon the banks of the old.





Copyright@2009 by Mark Anthony St. Rose. All rights reserved.