Here now this morn
Our tryst with bliss is a nightingale’s song,
having no motive and without an aim,
prismatically refracting God’s gong,
poised in the void as a flicker-free flame.
To the throb of bliss magnetism we swoon,
in sync with the rhythm of the universe,
be the night pitch black or graced by the moon,
dancing without any need to rehearse.
Rapture rises ushering surprises,
each petal of heart opened by God’s hand,
enlivened by spirit that baptises,
as His grace available on demand.
Flickering space lowers her eyelashes ~
For now we see God’s face in such flashes
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
