The Long Road Home

completion of some other unfinished works

Every movement is catharsis

Every prayer rises to the clouds

And together they gather into cities

Spheres of light, rippling, alive,

And they slink beneath the bonds of their austere home

And descend with a roar towards the vast green country below

Exhilaration through the void

A brilliance never seen before

A living bit of legend

Coming down to Earth at the zigguarat

At Ur

The Splash

The crown upon the queen of waters

For a moment, illuminated

Shaped like living light

Carved from the icy pure

Puddle in Baghdad

The shadows grow longer and a little ripple expands out

yearning to reach the farthest corners of its pothole

the distant shores that promise a new Heaven and a new Earth

As stars to men

Those coasts are jagged and hostile

Dirty and littered

With the ashes of cigarettes and the refuse

Deposited by the wrathful whirlwind

The asphalt is chipped and stains the hands that touch it

With a soot black as death

In the spot where insects gather

To be slaughtered

But the ripple is undetered

It knows only the sun

And the sky

And the beautiful fall

And the glorious crown

And that coast seems distant and new and such things excite the mind

Of those who know no better

But who among us has never dreamed

Of someplace far and foreign

And did we not convince ourselves

That such shores were perfect?

All these things we long for

Are as wonderous as they are

Out of reach

And the beauty lays therein:

That we imagine such things

and are never proven wrong

And the ripple faded away

Its last efforts to stretch out

Closing in on the edge

But never touching

Those magic shores

Those hostile stones

And it dreams forever

Of what could have been

And is none the wiser

But it is enough.

And that crusty dirty dump

In the burning streets

Of Baghdad

Inspired the angels

Who knew only glory

And did not believe

In the common world.

And for those unfortunate souls

Who have lived and seen and breathed

And are not fooled by tricks of light

Or naive children's tales,

There is still this:

The children and the angels

Still believe.

And that should be enough for us.

 

I'm eating again.

Author's Note

i didn't spell check this one and i type pretty quick and carelessly, please let me know if there's anything wrong with spelling/grammar. and of course, what you think of the piece itself. thanks.

Reviews

[Ian]

I like this poem very creative. There is various meanings to what was going on. There is some trouble believing but you hung in there.