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A B Poem
A sanctuary beholden to the eyes of the seer,
Open hearted lays a crystal entrance to the golden,
And perhaps an even more extravagant opening,
Lies the broken, wooden entrance for the good.
The moribund dream of it in its starkest slumber,
Yet is within reach for all who yearn.
It lies not on metal, nor stone,
Nor freshly laid yew, stained by paint and human toil.
But by love and grace, forever orbiting,
A pastiche of beauty, greater than the yonder,
For the exultant and the brave,
In the tree of wisdom they shall reign forever.
Copyright © A B | Year Posted 2011
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