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From the Holy and Beautiful East
by Donald Standeford As I fly above the clouds, I hear whispering Of engines vibrating; they whisper of power To hold this plane on its plane pocket of air; Whispers of monotony, a constant state of rising Seatbelts taken off and people boozing then Descending, but always constant whispering Of the metal beast; she whispers of her power To speed above clouds through space Desert below her, so beautiful its face; Would it absorb the thoughts of my soul, erase me From this perch on nature, forces that hold Me curl up and die? A true force, the earth Even truer the moon, beyond it Mars, cold, dead; Below lazy streams combine into lazy rivers; See the sum of sand and smell the rum; Smell the whiskey, the curdling yeast; soon He will come from the holy East, rise, rise, rise And raise the dead up as he flies, raise both Body and soul alive; those he claims as his own, Never, ever again to be left here all alone. Don V Standeford http://www.donstandeford.com Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com |