An orison to hope
Shattered into smithereens
Its keened tongues and teeth gnash and lament
A despairful cry of a cutthroat womb.
Cacophonies cry out
Cellos and violins bow, inexorable and unforgiving
Until then, of their finale the southern bells will ring;
A testimony that God has returned.
Savior of humanity,
Entwine us with arms that bleed
For those arms' warmth and nurture
Extricates us from a demise with a lamenting dissonance.
Categories:
extricates, angst, bereavement, blessing, depression,
Form: Free verse
What if I told you that your body,
is nothing more than a garland,
that you wear around like a garment
that screens the confining darkness
and liberates them, as black clouds
which pepper your mind with dark thoughts.
Yes, we call ourselves human beings,
who are made out of dust, for the time being.
The form that you are seeing,
is a reflection from a mirror in which you are dreaming.
Its not the dream that you see while you are sleeping,
but when you are awake, alive and breathing.
What if I told you that it takes only one millionth of a second,
to slip into the dark numbness of the moment.
The impending whisper of death,
that is imminent after every passing breath.
With that final sigh, you are marked by your deeds and devotion,
which adheres you to your loved ones' emotion,
and extricates you, from your daily commotion
As oblivion seeps through, while you are frigid and frozen.
Categories:
extricates, dark, death, deep, emotions,
Form: Rhyme
What is brighter than the Sun,
More luminous than the Moon,
And more glorious than the Mani Jewel?
The Golden Aura of Amitabha!
For His Light pervades across the
Ten quarters and extricates
The afflicted from darkness
And suffering! Bestowing the
Glory of Bodhi to all!
Poem released into Public Domain
https://purelandsutras.wordpress.com/blog/
Categories:
extricates, allusion, appreciation, art, beautiful,
Form: Free verse
Fantasy flows
around her soul
she's everything that
makes you whole.
she takes the day and
breaks it down
she extricates the black
and brown,
filters out the bloody reds
and pours fresh colors
in your head.
She goes panning
for the shades
of sapphires
in the stock and trade
of ordinary things you do....
she makes a poet out of you.
Categories:
extricates, on writing and words,
Form: Couplet