And when the wars do finally desist,
I might see myself alive in your eyes;
‘Twixt stones of blood and sly, coveting mist;
Crutchless, you and I together will rise.
In resurrection’s perfect power then,
Do I lay all soul’s hope in joyous debt,
With she and he and our Beloved Friend.
And tears will wash my cheeks unlet.
Lost, then found, in truth’s merciful embrace;
To all things mighty and good I aspire;
Through water, clean and pure, I’ll see your face,
And of golden sun’s birth will never tire.
In perfect dreams of Heaven unadorned
by foibles, guile of men; I am reborn.

*   *   *   *

I’m not much of a poet, but this one turned out all right. What do you think? Is it full of burdensome imagery?

Much of my poetry is the kind that should be kept in a tear-stained, anger-furrowed notebook in a drawer and never seen by other human eyes. Do you have any that’s worth sharing?