The Saints Never Lived Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

The saints never lived
Composing the anthems for doomed love
It was not their provenance
I heard the air shining singing to me
In the singeing wind, still music surging
whenever I considered them
Their snowy silence now;
It was all apple blossom
Radiant on the boughs and I could not
Give it any other name brimful of clouds
That a farther sea composed where light
Never raged and beauty was not staged
But real beyond what I could feel, the margins
Of that country, its interior
Where they wandered seeking the God forever
Seeking them and earnest as blue skies in summer
Because they only knew
No doomed love
No doomed love at all.
But carried their burdens feather light
Into the Infinite, infinite light.
mary angela douglas 7 june 2024