Beauty Grows A Golden Grace Poem by David Lacey

They rise from the mould, bold before the story told.
Whilst within the eye of the beholder beauty grows a golden grace,
With an elegance befitting a queen, she lay slumbering,
Numbed within the dream, confounded as to what the visions mean.
Our mother turns in correspondence with her learning, as
Inspiration flows forth from within unity, preaching the resurrection of
Clarity. She examines the screen, silver and shimmering.
As locked within her heart is shivering, she’s wavering in a windless
Rush of echoes, the ghost of the morning show appears beyond eyes
Sewn shut with the smothering of Sleeps teardrops. Cut off from the world
The best we can do is to adjust the lens in an attempt to achieve redemption
From a society that would drag us into the dirt. If only those of an Atlantian age could see us now, as we pollute our lungs with an exposure to industry.
Love hath left the land of hand, left him with naught but a memory of her melody fading. Sheltered shade speaks safety to the soul of solemn silence.
He knows not where to go, laid bare defenceless, fearing the sentence of
His coincidence as it resides the voice of our heart. Our race lay broken in parts, we calamitous creatures of clay are the lost of a dying breed, the last of a dying creed. We who revere the trees in their splendour are laughed at by those who would not know the glory of veils unpeeled. Illusion fuels their ignorance, dissolving all that’s real. Reciting under duress how are we ever to know the full caress of the words in their wonderment. Cement for me freedom within the turning of a leaf.