Echo Of Paradise Lost* Poem by Terence George Craddock (Spectral Images and Images Of Light)

Sorrow’s sadness tinges,
feathered fluttering soul
with mournful memories
of gleaned purity past.

As soul cries
through possessing use
of humility’s
harnessed heart.

I cloak hope
in a poet’s pitted shield
as I weave each line
to random rhyme.

Even as youth
we stand in our Eventide,
memories flooding
back instead of fading
away - as we walk
forward in dream’s eye.

For how can
the snail know
crawling about
in subdued slime.

With its burden
on its back,
that creation earth.
Stands a vast
height above him?


Man is trapped
like a slug
on a lettuce leaf
in the garden
of deceiving illusion.

I do not know
I have always known
I shall know again
as I knew before.

Many times have I seen...
multitude face of death.
Each time discerning death...
passed me serenely by.

It is not given
for you to die.
Not yet enfolded in
origin earth to lie.


A refreshing wind
must blow
across the face
of cursed land
carrying embryo
of reseeded thought.
For now is prophesy
ordained time of planting.

So catalyst toils
in field to bring,
irrigating waters,
murmuring flow
to parched soil.
Before warm
breath whispered
on siren wind.

Hours are long
in this world
of shadows.
Scars run deep
of many wounds
I bare
on body
of my soul.

Yet even great pain
crumbles broken perishes
like sun bleached dry bones
till pain receding slowly fades.
Weathered with relentless time
or succumbs at sin sentenced grave.


Copyright © Terence George Craddock