Hush, child-
Hush, child- hear
the aches of the gypsies
lingering in hearts that lay waste to the
moon
The ice has swept
from lily blossoms, holding strong
the wheels that
turn as the stars in the painted
skies of autumn light.
it sways in the
eyes of the songbird
and the tears of an angel
stooping low to brush
the soil with its lips of heavenly
afterglow,
How can this faded world be so brave?
the sun shines far too bright
to be seen
the incandescent fingernails
strum remorselessly on these
strings of
dragons’ heart, sounding
stricken pine and sullen oak,
they tell of the chaos of
song, this sick, fluorescent happenstance,
that graces the earth, then
flutters to the
gaping space-
an eternity is vast, though
freedom is locked,
captured in chains,
and in vine,
the fruit of such rising
to the biting cold of a
winter’s day,
finding its home in the endless chaos of
life and of
death and of
marital arguments
This winter is a coat,
a glaze
over us, the world, and it whispers
of predicament in its
wake, and ecstasy in its
wane.
shall we stand, or
shall we fall?
cries the minister,
as he reaches for the door
of his magisterial honor
and falls short,
since he has thus been
chained himself into the earth and sun
and cold and moon and vines
of
reality
Here is Elliah’s blog:
