Paradise

Gates, the likes of which man may hope not construct, hold little reason to bear patience for the hesitant.

Paradise

The fingers of the wind gently 

his face caress

and sand, like feathers trims 

the beard of fallen cares 

as wraps tatter and tatter 

to bring a rhytm to his rest

and distant belltolls clatter

to blow peace upon his breast. 

One, two, three... 

The spirit which was of the body 

now unbound may rise, 

laying gaze upon oasis 

where time no more flies 

and beauties of the desert 

so swarthy yet so pale 

adorned with rainbow gold 

sip from ageless grail 

in water where spilled there are 

bauble, gem and crown 

and merry little fishes 

save all who could drown. 

One, two, three... 

Before teased to join and bathe

he held chance to be 

ancient flutes and roaring drums 

carried him to see 

gates standing taller than Babylon proud 

and so much more beautiful than body allowed 

he knew what had come. 

One... Two... 

Then halted he for far too long, 

Lost he had become. 

As wind's hand clasped his form

fierce then grew the drum 

and flutes, if body there 

stood, able to hear and stare 

would tear the ears apart.

Dragged, for hours it felt

the sobbing spirit cried,

no matter how many times

"Let go!" could not decide

against his fate so imminent

the desert passed and passed 

until the spirit realized 

no paradise may last.

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

Your poetic expression here is divine itself. Your imagery exceptional. So pleased am I to chance upon a poem of this quality. Thank you Beto.

Chris

[Phill Oz O'fee]

Absolutely exceptionally exquisite write; the wordplay, imagery and stanza flow were both creative and powerful - bravo my friend for such a great share! Just loved the read; an inspiration piece... :-)

[Beto]

Ah, thanks for stopping by and all the kind words.