Dragonfly Poem by Elliott Rosenberg

Master of consciousness rouse to fruition,
disgorge your peregrine sentiment,
blossom with latitude upon our temples,
creviced below this forgiving mountain.

To see a flower perish begs,
acceptability of the giving soul,
beginnings to an end,
sacrificially dormant upon,
the altar where children sleep the night away.

To muster strength of existence,
when all else fails to be,
exercise a choice of kinsman ship,
when the bleeding stars rain,
simply makes us masters,
over earthquakes quivering at our feet.

By divine caste I was given my druthers,
To be a sorrow willow or lift above the pines.
For the crescent essence of humanity stands united,
churning integrity upward from the swallowed foothill.

For one can fly above Lumbini,
Descent towards the ground,
But in the calyx of every flower is a child without a name,
An infant without a mother and an orphan sprouting life.

Knowing that tomorrow the sun will steam arduous with oblivion,
brethren will rise from their makeshift tombs,
beat at the surface as tadpoles willing life,
Grow wings and hiss like a dragonfly.