Because I have untutored hands
I build in words - long caravans
that rove across a desert screen
between the dreamer and the dream.
Because the architect won't speak
to engineers, the structures lean:
mirage of ziggurat and dome
in parody of brick and stone.
Cloud-cities float above the dunes,
their towers figments of the winds;
bright shrines alight like butterflies,
greet moon and sun, their portals eyes:
in every shrine, a higher soul,
a lotus-bud of Love, unfolds…
Between the dreamer and the dream...
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2004
Свидетельство о публикации №104050300247
Свидетельство о публикации №104050300247
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