Should there be no sun, when tomorrow is gone
Should we fall down, voices drown our own
Visions blur, murmurs confuse, threaten
Knees bleed in pleading, thinking
Undeserving of grace, in too
Much disgrace, abased
In the mad slaughter
Time is wasted
Marinated
Heads
Like jelly
Bent so lowly
Mirages dazzle
Squander strength
Yet our hopes blossom
Roots seek crystal drops from
Under the weight of this occlusion
Desert nurtures, gloomy horizon beckons
Mindless, clueless, cleaving in mutual earnest
Two cacti, spiny bright green, unwavering in stance
Where waters run deeply, we seek it and there, fellowship
A pink tree in place of a cactus? Yes, in due time, the legacy of cacti will be a lovely pink tree admired by all.
I'm glad you liked this poem which was inspired by your own struggles about your faith.: -)
There are many things we do not understand, and in our confusion, issue a bulletin, God is dead. The corpses of our disbelief and denials of what can be, who we are, what's in the future, may all stem from our lack of water. Drink from the Spirit and you'll never be thirsty again. Is this a cliche? Sauce for the goose, nd not the gander. Sorry.
My only solace in life, widowed in my waning years, is to speak my mind out and be like a child in self-containment. I have no need of anything else if I can have my voice heard in a poem and have someone listening earnestly.: -)
For my friend Kostas Lagos, a kindred spirit and all poets in constant search of the SUN.: -)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Our current circumstances is by no means final; if the sun fails to shine, perhaps, you should take the cool respite to explore other things and find skills you failed to discover when the sun shines so brightly, distracting you from more urgent things, maybe not crucial for you but for your significant other. My point view, love does not set with the sun, it blooms through all kinds of weather.: -)