Countless Spheres Poem by Linda Marie Van Tassell

What in vain pondered so long in life's countless spheres,
which quietly in the seeking took repose,
left me witness to no claim?
When the nights of day remain unchanged,
shall I view the ebb of life's roundabout stream.
Engaging no scheme for the excursion through the years,
and scenting the bouquet of the rose,
whither garden's common provides the frame;
and I behold the coursing stem estranged
that lays the wearied down to dream.

Clasped in my arms and embraced once more,
the curtain of life's treasonous veil
leads me onward to the nemesis that is near.
Blasphemy on the inferior of the subsiding light
whereto everything fore me has been denied.
With my darkened stare cast on and before
the sprightliness of this stupendous tale,
I feign not nor deign to hear
the sounds that the shadows whisper in the night
that, jesting, seats with Demise on the opposing side.

I fail to recollect where the course last
lost its way and afforded nary a sign
or semblance where once I acquired the chair
that carried me through innocent shame
and cast me down fore all.
The Way, thou shalt discover, when once passed -
governing the Way back to thine.
Once at ease to what is there,
shalt we observe the winner's game,
where nary one shall fall?

When the essence inside me lifts
from the ruins, once confessed,
and leisurely drifts
to the Doorway in the West,
shall I dress the blazing brocade,
whereupon Elysian Fields have been inlaid?

Touching the mountainous firmament where winds turn blue
and raindrops coincide with the falling of tears,
the stratosphere cereclothes the waning trees
that become decrepit with every hour,
where winter's zephyr forces them to shed.
With the osculation of aurora dew,
that lingers so long in life's countless spheres,
like a maiden lamenting upon her knees,
each droplet clings to every hushed flower
until, lifeless, they are dead.

When evil wakes eyes to give
each who seeketh not his wrath,
the self-same bestowed upon kings,
the cataclysm far and in between
bequethed to those upon whom he sets.
If my soul, haply, should opt to live
amid and down his well-trodden path,
surrounded by the border of lifeless rings,
I will slowly alight below the green
and slumber beneath well-arranged violets.

Where hides the essence and being of this bud
that soon shall disembark to flower
for all to know the redolence of its smell? -
Where under the darkened sundown sky,
the gusts and gales whisper beware.
For, as suredly, as it has the intensity of blood,
so shall it be shed upon this hour,
where no man knows Demise well.
Expect to hear over the realm some soul's cry
when it has been taken away from there.

And below the earth shall lay
a barren corpse someone gave;
yet, decided to taketh away
into countless spheres beyond the grave.
Where once there was a child
see now the maggots feasting wild.