Thursday, June 13, 2019

Two Poem Drafts

Pes Progrediendi

We have looked and sought in silence
for a whisper of a hope;
it comes in form of shadows
and a long and winding road.
When shall we find our ending?
When shall we reach our home?
When shall the stars descending
bring the sun from nightlong roam?

Some find their heart's desire
and find it black despair;
some by the good inspired
bend their backs with leaden care.
But shall we find our ending?
And shall we reach our home?
When shall the stars descending
bring the sun from nightlong roam?

I know You in the darkness
before the dawn is born.
I know You in my weakness
as I flee the burning storm.
By pieces fear has vanished,
dross has slowly burned away,
one step and then another
down a dark and winding way.

So may we find our ending,
thus may we find our home,
as subtle stars descending
bring the sun from nightlong roam.

The Sun

Beyond where soaring eagles fly,
beyond the ocean-mass of air,
see the shrine of heaven-sky,
see its holy glory there,
beyond, and further still beyond,
for all the air is but a pond
to ocean-void, in which is built
the solar temple, fire-gilt.

Never has it been profaned,
nor touched by crass, unholy hands;
its golden walls by sin unstained,
angel-like it searing stands
beyond, and further still beyond,
past chasm vast that, gaping, yawned
since long before the earth was made;
there angels born of morning prayed.

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