I thought the beautiful world had come
haunting the space that used to be
filled with human misery
and gold to the touch and unfolding as the rose.
soon sighed the angels but not yet
and I couldn't sleep for remembering
what I could not forget that the beautiful world
is possibly near to each one expecting it
though tempest driven and alone.
keep watch oh my soul I wanted to say
and open the casements in an old fashioned way
and let the spangled air rush through
the rooms of a former bitterness.
and the ghost I was unlatched the stars
where God had healed the inward scars in
the winter air, where it floated, the beautiful world
just out of reach.
tell your children this
in their fine sleep.
that the beautiful world may come.
mary angela douglas 1 january 2017