Dust and Dreams-A Journey
Heaven at Thy Feet (Wisdom)
Heaven at Thy Feet
Quench thy fear from off thy heart,
Alas, nary be this a start,
To gently grasp thy winds of change,
Freed of stone, as one deranged,
Walk with me a while, my child,
With not fright, but peace be riled,
For ‘tis not thy wounded loon hear I,
But rather, thy soft, sweet lullaby,
For life doth teach of scourge in time,
Ah, mere life, thy mere scholar of mime,
For within thy soul, plays thy dormant joy,
Be not all days, lone man, dear boy,
What be thy sky in freshened eye?
Thy wounded river of tears to cry?
Why not it be thy canvas of white,
that merely caresses thy lovely night?
What be thy sun, all brilliant light?
Be she lone doom,, mere blinding fright?
Oh breathren, whyst not she be,
A mere sweet droplet of heavenly?
Whyst be dense, thy forest dark?
Be not bare, thy limbs, merely blackened, stark,
Caress thy hand of pine, perfumed and sweet,
Gaze upon thy willows, that ne'er weep,
Ah, doth float upon thy infant morn,
Happy hearts doth sing unto thy dawn,
Thy flowers ‘neath thy young, strong feet,
Be proof that Heaven be complete!
2002
Cristine M. DiMario
This poem was also published in the 1998 edition of Offerings Magazine, and in Spring, 2002 on www.creativenue.com. All copyrights are retained by the author.
Quench thy fear from off thy heart,
Alas, nary be this a start,
To gently grasp thy winds of change,
Freed of stone, as one deranged,
Walk with me a while, my child,
With not fright, but peace be riled,
For ‘tis not thy wounded loon hear I,
But rather, thy soft, sweet lullaby,
For life doth teach of scourge in time,
Ah, mere life, thy mere scholar of mime,
For within thy soul, plays thy dormant joy,
Be not all days, lone man, dear boy,
What be thy sky in freshened eye?
Thy wounded river of tears to cry?
Why not it be thy canvas of white,
that merely caresses thy lovely night?
What be thy sun, all brilliant light?
Be she lone doom,, mere blinding fright?
Oh breathren, whyst not she be,
A mere sweet droplet of heavenly?
Whyst be dense, thy forest dark?
Be not bare, thy limbs, merely blackened, stark,
Caress thy hand of pine, perfumed and sweet,
Gaze upon thy willows, that ne'er weep,
Ah, doth float upon thy infant morn,
Happy hearts doth sing unto thy dawn,
Thy flowers ‘neath thy young, strong feet,
Be proof that Heaven be complete!
2002
Cristine M. DiMario
This poem was also published in the 1998 edition of Offerings Magazine, and in Spring, 2002 on www.creativenue.com. All copyrights are retained by the author.
