Frosted windowpanes offer no view,
Though sunshine sparkles and swirls in hidden images.
Make of them what we do.
Incense from censers rise, filling sacred space with muted light.
While melodic chants lift souls from solid earth to Heavenly glory.
Whitman, Teilhard, poetic spirits join in ecstasy,
Lives chosen, insisting, no fault, no sin in thought or word,
Though deeds may speak another creed.
From ancient battlefields, generals, politicos, commentators, writers, actors, musicians, artists, and clowns,
This is who we Are
Who We Must Be.
In Birth unchosen
In Death unwanted
Frozen sparkles give way to raindrops.
Sunlight works its will.
Mighty as we think we be,
Flesh enmeshed, bone, blood marrow, to dust we do return.
Teardrops blur the landscape
As frosted windows melt.
Wretched ever in ourselves
Human glory deceives.
Where not the light,
Through swirls, dimly we perceive.
The mysterious veil melts away,
Evil, guilt, and pure hearts glare in day.
Tears of humility,
Warm the cold soul.
Lush grows the
A Spring Day.
A. K. Frailey is the author of 15 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.
Make the most of life’s journey.
For books by A. K. Frailey check out her Amazon Author Page
Poetry is not dead, as long as hearts are alive.