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by Denny Lancaster
231122
We awoke to the sound, who scattered light,
closing the stars and a field of night,
trusting the Cherub would open the book
and from our capture we would take flight.
With a whim we were pressed and thought died,
me heard a voice from the child who cried
for in the book we were trapped within,
wished again we could escape and go outside.
And, as the clock struck ten, who stood before
the book case and shouted to open the door
and told us for another day we would not stay,
so we departed and may not return ever more.
Now a new year is reviving our old desires,
and our penance in the book soon retires,
to our youth and that fateful day in June,
when the errant human frolic soon inspires.
I split a hair, which divides false from true,
although I knew the Cherub's promise was a clue
but earthly treasure was gathered and spent
and forgotten was being trapped in the book too.
We were told that some trapped, and escaped who
before us passed the door of Darkness through,
but not one returned to tell us of the road,
which we must discover, and must travel anew.
But we can tell you reader, start from the goal,
and through darkness and flames of the foal
you too can open the book and from pages spring
for there is no predestined plot for each soul.
Oh my loves if but with HIM you and I could conspire
to fathom our human needs and wants in earth entire,
would we not then shatter them to bits and pieces
and then remold them nearer to HIS hearts desire?
For in the book with our faces flat, our deeds entire,
with many which for others to follow and not inspire,
can not now be erased or rewritten after our death,
rather than earthly treasure, only HIS love our require.
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