Windows of My Soul

2

soul

The day drapes herself with purple hues as it wakes.
It makes ready for creation
all that is needed to weave
from the golden sun,
experiences of Light.
As you open your eyes
to the greeting of a shimmering morning,
may the Light rays
find you happy and well.
Good morning.

Dreams flow rich,
from the running brook,
man stands to watch
the colouring book of His grace.
My soul longs to feel on me, the grace,
I sigh and lay in the soft grass of home.
The bells through the flashing lights
tell me that harvests are almost done.
Will Father find enough for the treasure?
I hope for you that
the harvest though not very pure,
will ring the bells.

Persuasion
The sun can be persuaded
to have roses in the desert.
The dew at dawn is as
soft as the outer reaches of the sun.
the hand that holds the Sword is loving and firm.

The scapel of the surgeon is sharp
to remove the errant tissue.
It is mercy.
The eagle lives on the crag
as the dove descends
and the sea breaks out on victory song.
The unicorn sniffs the golden air
for the sun is married again.

The Rose has seven points on her garb.
The temple is no longer hidden
and there is blue light all around!
the Final Judgment?

The fox returns to his hole
to lie in wait
for the intrepid chicken
that squawks its stupidity.
The protection of the blind lady
Is but a momentary fancy.

The hyeana’s laugh
Strident and hoarse
Is menacing in its promise
To tear feathers asunder

The growling belly
Of the howling mob
Like visiting tornadoes
Make Christmas lights
Of human bodies
For human frailties
Stand mute as sign posts
To an exasperated Earth!

In blazing light colors
Shifts from tainted egos
The bloated fellows
From tainted cloaks
In calm fashion
Renders bare human passions.

Man’s profoundity today,
was yesterday’s folly
Tomorrow my Janus
I stand bound to love
To serve Justice in Purity.

They abuse the Seven
In an ode to heaven
To see in their temerity
Their take of severity
May suffice to serve seven
Four and three
False and false by same degree
Is this the final judgment?
Really and truly?
Have you ever?
Well I never!

GROWLING FAITH
Ravens still growl,
At the dove,
They still stand with
Dead palm oil under
Their garment,
With blackened fingers
The curtain may rent
Seven trips to the rose
In light streams
The column weeps
The hump of their faith
Sprouts maggots of pain
Defying even the pleas
Of the saints.

2 Comments
  1. Daphne Shapiro says

    Simply wonderful!

  2. Biola Olatunde says

    Thank you very much. I am grateful.

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