To the Russian poets and all poets;the shimmering, undefeated "cloud of witnesses" who conveyed at great cost in their own way: the connecting idea between Heaven and earth. And most of all, to the poet from the former Soviet Union who, dying, in prison, wrote his final poem in his own blood on the wall: the single word, "Hope". Whole-hearted To the Triune God in memory of Mary Adalyn Douglas.
Copyright 2006-2016, U.S. and International Copyright all rights reserved by Mary Angela Douglas
Saturday, January 17, 2015
The Museum Of Sadness
and do you have a museum of sadness?
your very own? scattering the flowers before
you as you walk the trees may be while you
walk alone or on pavements of snow
hand in hand so tenderly with the Holy Ghost
the klieg lights of the moon on the lustre of the
very same marble and you know you know
the exhibits you'll want to see. the cafe across the street
as you remember the twilight's blue. the angel guards with their grave faces.
you recognize the saturday sweaters, various letters.
the dried arrangements of who knows the best
bouquets you could have been sent at the time.
and in a frame of pearl the day you believed in
that came and went. the little stove that cooked cheap noodles.
the cinnamon shades are drawn.
and now, is it enshrined?
are the shadows mauve as if they were flowers too
in hiding from the brilliance of your sighs?
the pale green rectitudes in the scrapbooks on brown paper
where the tape is peeling the Christmas lights unwind
and in the corner, the things you wore amid fresh tuliped dreams:
the scarves with the glittering thread
the pale dance shoes.
the things you thought you said
inscribed in gold
and in your heart with the arrow drawn straight through: