Somewhere Music Waits, Hidden In Stones

somewhere music waits, hidden in stones
for an Easter rising
and the saints in long surmising burned

relearn the mysteries one by laboured one
never to be forgotten again or

dropped along the way
in a diamond aphasia and in our ruined clothes
in the distance sown between

home and not my home with
the white stones garnering moonlight

for the mother of pearl, and clouded over. returns.
and all rude silences have kerned in locking,
stalking the manuscripts that would not burn

the genuinely shunned, discarded
and remaindered, stunned
is sewn together for the dying by degrees

from the peerless weeping,
sleepless handiwork of God
outlasting, having discerned it all

and we with Him.though beaten
into the sod, spurned gold.

then we will arise from former disenchantments
won, won! from the chilling, chilled,
the diurnal naves, knaves! of the cruel

depositions, inquisitions
done.

from the bleak towers removed
where deserts find their rains
and the mocked Kingdoms bloom.

mary angela douglas 13 march 2018