And if the old oak in the yard
should never again blossom life
and cede its soil for a bed of death;
if the sea shone mirror-like
without hint of a ripple;
its tide lost, in the breath of a burgundy dawn.
If the sun should collapse in the zenith sky
and spew fiery rains of indignation,
or if the rosebuds lost forever,
Their ambition to bloom;
and grew inclined to ignore springs whispers.
If the midnight sky—
with its thousand points of light
turned aphotic, as it swallowed the moon.
If the Earth dared to shed her chimera of calm,
opened up, and belched hell to her surface,
and creation was raised to the heavens
and all things were made to face truth,
standing amidst the rubble, unscathed,
is love
impervious love
© 2012 Keith Horton
Hello... These words feel like those of an observational artist... Harmony seeps through words of loss of things which could not be seen ever again. Karen
Wow. Seriously good build up and a fitting climax. Love the imagery.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thank you, Karen and Martin for your time and comments. I appreciate you both.