Bent

I threw my words into the golden air

when golden was my expectation

but they returned to me, bent.

through shining kingdomes of

faery-cut glass I kept on

scripting the soul's forlorn menageries-

but words were cut there, too

when staunchless, on

the bitter ground,

glass music slipped

from my hands and shattered.

I carried words in my heart, then, when

chiming inwardly those

heart-breaking bells deposed.

beyond earth

I carried them, still, their

crystal cascade shimmering

sorrowfully out of sequence

small birds quaking barely

alive I cried to see them so-

coming to the final bend in the road

of uncherished language.

I bent before the

least door of Heaven

incapable of more-

I let them go:

they flew straight through--

mary angela douglas 24 february 2010