These Peaks of Joy
These mouths of laugh
these traps of many
these winds as peas,
they grow;they are tall.
These fools to smiles
these miserable men of ham;
these slings of love
they fail;they are frail.
These fair feet;adorned
these skins of cherubs;rare
these sparks of peace,
they come;they go.
These rivers of soil
these soils of mud
these rocks are flakes
they sink not;they sail.
But yet even the emblem of love
becometh but fragile
even the light that was but:
dawns to darkness
so the joy is as a rock
In a sling it goes up hither;
but sooner falls.
These drains of sadness
these moments;but few
these peaks of joy
they;intense but brief.
These sobs of annoyance;
these moons at graves
these blues are silent,
they whisper;they are meek.
These lilies are not flowers
these twigs but roses
these;there fragrance
they enlighten;they are life.
These mountains of prophets
these seas of glass,
these heights of love,
they work no ill;they are joy.
These peaks of laugh
these deep winds,
these rare bushes of gloom,
they burn;it's passion.
-The end-
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