O
Out of a bed of love
When that immortal hospital made one more moove to soothe
The curless counted body,
And ruin and his causes
Over the barbed and shooting sea assumed an army
And swept into our wounds and houses,
I climb to greet the war in which I have no heart but only
That one dark I owe my light,
Call for confessor and wiser mirror but there is none
To glow after the god stoning night
And I am struck as lonely as a holy marker by the sun
No
Praise that the spring time is all
Gabriel and radiant shrubbery as the morning grows joyful
Out of the woebegone pyre
And the multitude's sultry tear turns cool on the weeping wall,
My arising prodgidal
Sun the father his quiver full of the infants of pure fire,
But blessed be hail and upheaval
That uncalm still it is sure alone to stand and sing
Alone in the husk of man's home
And the mother and toppling house of the holy spring,
If only for a last time.
If only for a last time. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
The crucible witch is life and death. All man's attempts to understand and make homage to the plurality of gods are explored here. A poem of deep and subtle images which needs to be read many times.
I climb to greet the war in which I have no heart but only That one dark I owe my light, To glow after the god stoning night It is only in the aftermath of war...or any darkness we may encounter... that we are truly able to fully appreciate the light in our lives...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
very good poem, life and love are together.