In the charnel house
the temperatures burn
and rise to furnace
heights.
But not in the day.
In midnight.
Turn over and over
cephalic bones and
heads with eyes of
holes
hear, see, human!
There be a leveling hand
and
that leveling hand
be just!
The Vocabulary of Resignation
My Monsignor
when times will be
propense perhaps
to consider me
out of the
burning oblivion of
my soul,
my Inner Soul,
my Monsignor.
Those times will
wipe out the
injustices of years
and centuries
where
in to the tomb
descended a Poet Seer
with bent head
in resignation and a broken heart.
For, my Monsignor, Oblivion
an injustice be,
that burns for years,
for centuries,
the Voice and the vocabulary
of resignation
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem