The chalice of life pours
nurturing unending seeds of soul,
each precious drop a diadem
of dazzling hues
responding to each other
in an intimacy distance
all too often brings to be;
and like a string, stretched taut and tight,
o’er the whittled shape of hollowed trees
they sing together,
graciously and in abundance.
A glow of subtle radiance
rolling cross the bands of air waved radios,
pausing each and every time
a rose begins to bloom;
for its opening is everything there is.
And the shades of night unbend themselves,
stars sparkling with every beat of moonlit hearts,
ascending once again as night descends.
Oh indigo, how gracious
your display of starry skies,
just as the moon begins to wink her eye
in vast approval of the scheming
streams of starlit night, just as the moon
pours forth mysteriously
from the chalice held invisibly
by the greatest hands of artistry.
They sketch each beam of dark to life
again within the chalice of your form. . .
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .