the soft paws of the tigers rend
but steadfast are my angels, the archangels,
the afternoons.
the soft paws of the tigers near
commanding fear from those born to rejoice
but there is no reproach in the thundering
amphitheatres who only want more of it.
weary are the uses of adversity
and we turn away, no longer bearing
what we see while simply waiting our turn.
softer and softer tread the paws;
most terrible is their rending.
but that rare constellation the Soul, burns on
mary angela douglas 6 september 2013;26 november 2014
No comments:
Post a Comment