Pure, White Cloud Poem by Uriah Hamilton
Pure, White Cloud
Excuse me, please,
I need to drift
To a more auspicious place
Where my time-weary face
Will not appear so gloomy.
I’m a pure, white cloud
Seeking blue skies
To celebrate and venerate
Instead of participating
In storms I did not create.
Tell Elizabeth
I’ll meet her
Where the monks keep
The holy relics,
I need to be
In the good graces of holiness
When the fires of perdition bloom
Like daisies on a green hill.
There is still something special
Within my soul
That I must not allow
The treacherous to kill.
Your poetic picture is painted on that pure white cloud. Very touching, Uriah. Warmest regards, Sandra
This is a distinctly enigmatic piece Uriah, written with your usual skill and poetic finesse. A conflict between the higher and lower self, perhaps? Love the cloud metaphor. Warmly, Allie xxxx
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/10/2024 7:03:34 PM # 1.0.0.1119
There is still something special Within my soul That I must not allow The treacherous to kill. - - - yes! let us each guard our souls and keep them, as innocent as possible