Myrtle Thomas
Into the Mystic Realms Unseen
1.
the moonlight streams within a memory
like breath falls into a glass of wine
a mystic dream drifts away
portals yet untouched by my hand
vista’s – of eternity.
2.
lips open in thirst – age weakens
a voice – becomes a sigh whispering
into the mystic realms of the universe
you say take my hand and follow me
while you’ve walked into a wall
hush for a moment.
3.
those eyes of many colors hope
to see the sun rise and set as usual
loud and angry voices run the sinner away
vinegar and salt for the throats of shepherds
oaths lost in the offerings of mega churches
practice sermons of motivation.
4.
with joyous rapture the sky still unbroken
watches the ground heave and groan
graves still grow hungry waiting for you and I
the wind rises into the mystic
in regions only dreamed of by the wealthy
even then too greedy to the buy a ticket.
5.
when the sun and moon refuse to shine
or the thunder becomes a dark shadow
no fire left in the bones that cried the loudest
for the fire lived in the eyes and voices
of the quieter ones – those who sift the spirit
and evaluate the heart.
6.
what if the bells became deaf or if the thunder
lost its fire would the faces of the lost go unnoticed
like the cold blue side of the moon?
what of the fiery speeches with a flaming sword
in my life I’ve noticed a turning of the seasons
of monsoons and lakes of heated stone.
the moonlight streams within a memory
like breath falls into a glass of wine
a mystic dream drifts away
portals yet untouched by my hand
vista’s – of eternity.
2.
lips open in thirst – age weakens
a voice – becomes a sigh whispering
into the mystic realms of the universe
you say take my hand and follow me
while you’ve walked into a wall
hush for a moment.
3.
those eyes of many colors hope
to see the sun rise and set as usual
loud and angry voices run the sinner away
vinegar and salt for the throats of shepherds
oaths lost in the offerings of mega churches
practice sermons of motivation.
4.
with joyous rapture the sky still unbroken
watches the ground heave and groan
graves still grow hungry waiting for you and I
the wind rises into the mystic
in regions only dreamed of by the wealthy
even then too greedy to the buy a ticket.
5.
when the sun and moon refuse to shine
or the thunder becomes a dark shadow
no fire left in the bones that cried the loudest
for the fire lived in the eyes and voices
of the quieter ones – those who sift the spirit
and evaluate the heart.
6.
what if the bells became deaf or if the thunder
lost its fire would the faces of the lost go unnoticed
like the cold blue side of the moon?
what of the fiery speeches with a flaming sword
in my life I’ve noticed a turning of the seasons
of monsoons and lakes of heated stone.
Myrtle Thomas lives in the USA and has been published in several poetry journals and magazines as well as online poetry sites. She has been writing for many years of love , loss and nature.
