Fallen Angel (For Dylan Thomas) Poem by DM W

He fell from the heavens like a comet;
That darkened angel with broken wings.
O he will never ascend again to his
Former glory: gliding across versed skies.
His being will not be reassembled
In ethereal factories of clouds.
O his bones will not be resurrected
But perhaps they are still singing in hell:
Bellowing out their raw 'bible black' truths
That only the anguished can comprehend!

His strange, fevered mind bred a myriad
Of feral similes & metaphors.
He captured the pulse of a blood red sun
And the canarin mysteries of moon.
He perceived the spark that spawned creation
His genius is lost in the mists of Time.
Yet his blazing poetry will remain:
As long as stars illuminate the night;
As long as there are readers who adore;
The surreal power of vital beauty.