to William Blake
I saw you walking
the hills of green,
angels on either side of you, conversing
and cherry-bought bells resounding.
in the dove-sought skies such flame-tinged
clouds appearing:
sheer cirrus roses-
and you were so happy with an inkstained smile-
peeling a scroll of topaz from
a frayed coat pocket,
meant for the martyred poets.
you said: don't cry anymore
all consternation's fled; don't cry:
no rose is dead.
art is a shining ship, delivered:
the choken river's spanned;
the mocking charter's been revoked.
annointed sounds are spoken
into a halcyoned rainbow shell.
they hoped your vision was a sinking sun
marked by three crosses on a stolen hill,
but the day is a flower endlessly fluted;
and cut in crystal now
where tygers keep their radiant promise-
where darkness is banished
to a farther castle and the
Face of the Lamb is so revealed
whenever we are speaking
our sheer unfiltered gold
and we realize
we are still alive, my
bartered friend
a bright wind drives your
mended sails toward home
with the diamond husk of every poem,
received:
and all your trees are filled with singing
where nothing, nothing is a bane
how
blazingly the light
of every song, remains-
mary angela douglas 21-22 may,2009
I saw you walking the hills of green: Beautiful thinking process- 10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a frayed coat pocket, meant for the martyred poets. you said: don't cry anymore all consternation's fled; don't cry: no rose is dead. beautiful, simply beautiful. tony