The Serpent Is Dead Poem by Kurt Philip Behm
The Serpent Is Dead
Twilight fell onto my
windowsill
Demon fire in full
retreat
The stars above,
glowing pulls on a rug
Woven deep into the blackness
I sleep
Day's grip has now changed,
the cantor sings as he prays
St. Michael cries,
—THE SERPENT UNDONE!
As the sun has now left,
but your dreams not bereft
For only the night,
points to heaven above
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April,2015)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/21/2024 9:53:13 AM # 1.0.0.1119
