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And when,
From this earthen prison grim,
My enravished soul shall its jubilee find?
O pray my solemn pilgrim,
And say when from this toxic wind,
Will soar my soul like a bird,
For with rectitude I do my loins gird,
To catch the cherished and Everlasting Hope,
And reach heaven's exalted Belfry Tower,
And at the Celestial portals to grope,
Yielding at last to the imperious power.
And where,
From my bowels will flow that Eternal verse,
Rivers of living water, a living muse,
An oeurve bubbling inspired verse to break
The fetter'd curse,
And within my being a new joy infuse, .
I think I hear the Seraphs' song now,
Their choralled melody sweet and low,
To remove me from earth's rambunctious crowd,
To subdue and harness my untrammeled desire,
And my heart with fresh vision as Isaiah endow'd
When from the sacrosanct altar was touched by coals of fire.
ENOCH JOHN
| Submitted Date |
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Tuesday, December 16, 2008 |
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Poets
