Epiphany 2
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O these febrile nights of birth
Are draining my lifeblood!
Each wrought syllable
Seems to sigh
With deep longing.
Eventually,
A tender beauty
Is laid bare across
Burnt, weathered pages:
The profound laments
Of lonely dreamers
Radiating amidst stillness;
Angelic wisdom,
Phrased in crude animal yelps;
A small rage against
The grinding ubiquity
Of machine consciousness;
The soft air of grace
In these arid times;
A harvest of stars
In all their spectral radiance;
The scent of violets
In an odourless age;
A hint of moonlight
On the shadow lands;
A passionate prayer
Amongst cool objects.
Then dawn arrives cloaked
In rose pink splendour:
A blast of birdsong
Suddenly awakens me.
Despite the fresh pain
& the stinging rain,
Perhaps it's the slow
Resurrection of love
From emptiness.
Bu şiiri puanla
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