Friday, August 14, 2009

Poetry Year, August 14th

rivulets from rain on high stream down the window,
and they are tears from some angel, who is as lost as this.
I know here, she has loved and lost for all epochs
that will every be from this moment now.
Her grief is ageless, endless, and no less,
for being immortal grief, whose time unmeasured by clocks.

How much suffering could one angel bear,
before bearing down her celestial wing'ed light?
How much loss can one soul save,
That she would be stricken in her flight?
How heavy now the air, crackled with lightning's rave,
How weighed by tears an angel lost,
for out of nowhere, and down to here.

She, she goes on, for lost to perdition,
the mortal whose condition,
was too haunted by the wounds of sin,
to give over to his angel within.

And for that angel, there is only to dwell,
in a paradise, that has become her hell.

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