CALLIGRAPHY

Cradle me so, for I long

Lie my soul on the sands of Islands of the Blessed

From heavens to earth to

Netherworlds below

In script, in psyche, in print

Travel in sight, in

A train of puzzling knots, espying

The tenor screech of rails and metal

Wheels turn, but not to prosper - thrive

With every gyrating twist

Every fleeting 

Cry of years yonder, under 

The abyss

Our train delivers us to…

Is it a sober imagination, or devoid of fascination?

Elysium, where our portraits lay to rest

While gemmed souls are idyllically ravished

Meadows empty - hollow

Consecrated by tortured bones and split hearts

Death carries a memento of pleasure in might

To fields of a treacherous Eden

What a day, what a dream, what a fine delivery