Wednesday, 5 September 2012

Untitled

Nonchalant meekness,
the enterprise of Firth
comes forth when dark
fills the sky, like at Night,
but not actually.
The holy grail, the trinity,
a unity of two
and from this unity
is born a son, a born son,
a brother.
Where it once came, it
doesn’t come again,
but leaves from the portal
which healthy birth held.
Heralded angels, sky saucers
and encircling minds
that open fields lay abruptly
announce the second coming
of once His holy father.
But, we miss it:
Sky Soaring says that
only once in a birthday moon
comes the prize of pride
away from prejudice:
jaundices the malice that
let upbringing be told.
Granted, a forthright sailor
that once held that babe
helped the natural father
come from whence he didn’t
leave.
Bereave the nature;
the splendor that last let
love into an open door:
white guitar love song
sail away to new tides
and the moon, milky white,
split the sky into four pieces;
come what may,
the end isn’t near.
Forever is never a long time
to wait
when spikes in circumstances
brings forthright lovers
bad life and back
to the circle complete:
Once cleft for treble,
an etude in circular rhythm
can justly wait for roses to bloom
(for true love never dies
and waits for no fate
but its own).

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